


100% More Gay

by egocentrifuge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, Shiphaus - Freeform, posted on tumblr as "cabin!verse", shiphaus ot7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5738122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This behind the scenes is going to be at least 20% gayer than the others.”</p><p>“I’m aiming for 100%,” Lawrence says. “100% more gay.”</p><p>“A hundred times zero is still zero,” Joel says through a yawn. It’s Matt, of all people, who snorts.</p><p>“Yeah, like any of us are at zero,” he says. Joel feels James’ laugh through where they’re resting against each other. Lawrence sighs.</p><p>“Come on, Peake,” he scolds. “It was unsaid. The last thing we need before spending two weeks in a cabin together is for someone to put voice to what we’re all thinking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EverythingCanadian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingCanadian/gifts).



> This fic is otherwise known as cabin!verse, and was written and posted over several months on my tumblr. It's been edited some, as I started the fic with no plan and ended up getting kind of invested in it, but the plotting and pacing is what you'd expect from a multichapter fic that started with no plan. Still, I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it <3

“Where are we going?” Adam demands, not for the first time. Joel snorts, but he can’t help wondering the same thing.

“I told you,” Bruce sighs. “Geoff said he had something _special_ planned for our accommodations.”

“Something e _specially_ out of the way,” Lawrence grouches. “We’re miles outside of Austin.”

“Maybe it’s a spa?” Joel offers, just to hear the others sigh wistfully. It’s Adam that shakes his head, slumps in the passenger seat.

“There are no spas in Texas.”

They’re debating the validity of this statement when Bruce’s phone rings. He switches to speakerphone and Matt’s voice fills the car.

“Hey, the turn’s coming up,” he warns. James says something indistinct, and Matt repeats it patiently. “James says we’re probably going to be ax murdered once we go down it, so… be alert, I guess.”

They hear Sean protesting as ahead of them, James turns. Joel leans forward as he slows the car and spots a dirt road he had all but overlooked; between the faint tire treads there are wildflowers growing.

“Looks too cheerful for ax murder,” he muses. “I’m thinking more church camp.”

“You’re Jewish,” Adam points out. Joel glances up from the bumpy road to glare at Adam.

“We have church camp, too. Or, temple camp.”

“Is that where you learned how to elephant walk?” Bruce asks. The others laugh as Joel rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god,” James’ voice comes over the phone. “Guys, are you fucking seeing this?”

For a moment there’s nothing but the open field, the forest, but then Joel turns the corner and—

“Fuck me,” Adam says. “That’s…”

“Something special,” Bruce finishes.

Joel barely has time to stop the car before the others are piling out to join Sean, who’s out of James’ car and running towards the most expansive cabin Joel has ever seen. The porch alone is bigger than any cabin Joel’s ever stayed at, and the building that flanks it is probably larger than any of their apartments.

Joel unfolds himself from the car and goes to stand by Matt and James, who are popping the trunk of James’ car and grabbing bags rather than frolicking with the others. Matt looks, more than anything, pained.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asks.

“What are the chances this place has internet?”

James laughs. “That’d be something. Burnie flies us out here to produce content, Geoff gets us a place with no wifi.”

“Maybe it’s supposed to be a team building thing?” Joel says. Matt makes a soft noise of distress.

“We’re already a team. We don’t need resort bullshit, we need time to edit and produce.”

“It’ll be fine, Peake,” James says, shouldering two duffel bags and grabbing a third to carry. “We’ll find a Starbucks if we have to.”

“Maybe Geoff wants us to relax?” Joel suggests. Matt shoots him a dirty look over the PC tower he’s cradling.

“I’d be more relaxed if I could get work done.”

“Guys,” Bruce calls from the door. “You need to see this.” He looks the part of lodge proprietor in his ‘traveling shorts’ and plaid shirt; Joel laughs despite Matt’s anger as he grabs a backpack and hops up the steps.

“What’s up?” he starts to ask, but Bruce steps out of the way for him to see inside and Joel’s words die in his throat.

The interior of the cabin is like stepping into a version of Until Dawn where the lights actually work; sunlight frames a huge living room with an attached kitchen. Every appliance Joel can see is clean, if not modern, and the decor is more nature-inspired than hunting lodge. He can’t imagine that they’ll get to use to hulking fireplace, but there’s a widescreen TV mounted above the mantel and— 

“Oh thank god,” Matt breathes. There’s a desk along the front wall with a cheerfully blinking modem.

“There’s a fucking _Jacuzzi_ in this bathroom,” Adam calls from one of the side rooms. James drops his bags unceremoniously and darts in the direction Adam’s voice had come from.

“I call dibs!”

“No way, I saw it first!”

“You can share, girls,” Lawrence calls, emerging from a different room. “There are only four bedrooms, so we’ll all be doubling up.”

“Except me,” Joel says automatically. Sean laughs from the sofa he’s sprawled out on.

“I’ll sleep out here,” he offers. “That gives someone else their own room, too.”

“Me,” Lawrence and Bruce say at the same time. Matt’s not so absorbed in setting up his computer that he can’t sigh and wave a hand as Lawrence and Bruce assume the rock-paper-scissors stance.

“I’ll take the other couch,” he says. “Both of you can have your own room.”

“I’m going to blow Geoff so hard,” Adam announces, emerging from the back bedroom. “This is fucking incredible.”

“This isn’t a vacation,” Bruce says. The rest of them all speak up at once.

“We’re here to work,” they quote with various degrees of sarcasm. Bruce nods.

“Let’s get the computers set up before anything else. Did anyone check to see if there’s food?”

They break apart to set up their PC’s on whatever flat surfaces they can find and to finish moving their luggage inside. Joel finds himself in the smallest of the four bedrooms testing the internet connection on the rig he’s set up on the end table.

“Hey,” Sean says from the door. “I’ve got your bag—you want it in here?”

“Yeah,” Joel says absently. “Put it, put it here, on the bed. Thanks, Spoole.”

“No problem.”

Joel looks up to see Sean looking at his monitor and keyboard arrangement dubiously.

“That doesn’t seem safe,” he points out. Joel shrugs. It’s hardly ideal to work on a desktop PC from bed, but considering the amount of equipment they brought with them, Joel had figured it was as good a spot as any.

“The bar would probably work better for you,” Sean continues. “It’s too high for the others, but you like standing while you work, so. I can help you move it?”  
Joel blinks.

“Huh,” he says. “That’s brilliant.”

Sean grins. “Call me Ty Pennington.”

Joel laughs. “Spoole, was that a Trading Spaces reference?”

“Extreme Home Makeover. What’s Trading Spaces?”

“Another old TLC—oh, forget it. Help me move this.”

Together they manage to reassemble the tower in no time at all. When Joel looks up from his diagnostic check James is at the kitchen island, examining a series of boxes with great concentration.

“What’s up?” Joel asks.

“How many servings of Hamburger Helper do you think we can eat between us?”

Before Joel can answer a familiar voice booms out across the living room.

“Put that shit away. Dinner has arrived, boys.”

“Jack!”

When Joel turns Adam is pulling a grocery bag-laden Jack into a bear hug.

“This place is incredible. Who do I need to get on my knees for?”

Jack’s laugh is, as always, deeply infectious.

“It’d be enough if you can take these fucking bags from me, Kovic,” he says. Adam immediately starts divesting Jack of the groceries, as does Bruce. Lawrence gets up from the desk he’s sharing with Matt to come forward and shake Jack’s hand.

“How much do we owe you for the… supplies?”

Jack laughs again and shakes his head. “Nothing at all. We’re the ones who emptied the stocks, so it’s only fair we refill them.”

Lawrence perks up curiously. “We?”

Lawrence needn’t have asked, as Geoff pokes his head around the door behind him, eyes squeezed shut.

“Tell me there are no snakes,” he says plaintively. Jack rolls his eyes.

“There are no snakes, Geoff.”

Geoff opens his eyes and immediately glares into the room’s corners. “That’s right,” he mutters. “They better stay out.”

“There were never any snakes, Geoff, that was a cable Michael left lying around—”

“Don’t tell me there aren’t snakes!’ Geoff demands. “We’re in nature’s ass-crack, snakes fucking love it here.”

Jack’s sigh is interrupted by Sean’s tentative question.

“So you guys have stayed here before?” he says. It’s apparently enough to tear Geoff from his terrified contemplation of snakes, because he brightens up immediately.

“Hell yeah. This place is Joel’s baby—nest egg, property, whatever--but it’s turned into a kind of company retreat.” He grins. “Austin is great, but sometimes you need to get away.”

“Sometimes you need to lock a group of people away from the world for a weekend,” Jack adds. 

Geoff shoots him a look Joel can’t decipher, so he adds his voice to the conversation.

“You were locked in here with Michael?”

“And Gavin, and Ray, and Ryan,” Jack sighs. “Nothing sifts the shit better than a cabin in the woods.”

“Do we have shit to sift?” Joel asks, curious. Jack shrugs expansively.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Dude,” James explodes suddenly. When Joel glances back he’s elbow-deep in the groceries. “There’s stuff here for tacos.”

Joel rolls his eyes and turns back to Jack and Geoff, but they’re already out on the porch. He follows Bruce and Adam out the door to find the two of them already climbing back into their car.

“Aren’t you going to stay?” Joel calls. Jack shakes his head from the passenger side.

“We just wanted to stop by, make sure you found the place okay. Bruce, you have the schedule, yeah?”

Bruce extends a thumbs up and Jack waves in response.

“See you Monday, then!”

“Have a good weekend, boys!” Geoff hollers. “Don’t have too much fun!”

Geoff peels out at a speed ill-advisable for the road and leaves a cloud of dust in his wake. Joel looks over at Adam, eyebrows raised.

“Well then,” he says.

Adam meets his eyes with a long-suffering gaze of his own. “They got us three handles of vodka.”

“Three?” Joel echoes. “Jesus, I’d accuse them of trying to get us into bed if they hadn’t already left.”

“Maybe they’re still trying to get us into bed,” Bruce muses. “If they brought oysters I’m calling foul play.”

Joel laughs and heads back inside, leaving Bruce and Adam to sprawl on one of the benches. Matt catches him as he passes the desk.

“Hey, can you help me set up the cameras? I don’t know what angle is going to be best.” He’s holding a bundle of go-pros.

“For the, the reality television thing?”

“Yeah, plus whatever else we can use the footage for.”

Joel looks around the room. Lawrence and Matt are set up near the front door, Spoole and Bruce and Adam have their rigs on the coffee table, and it looks like James has commandeered the other end of the bar—as well as the only bar stool—for his computer. Joel considers the availability of outlets versus the amount of time they’re likely to spend in each place.

“Two in the kitchen, one within pointing out towards the living room, the other behind us at the bar pointing in. The other three we can set up in here, one on the mantle, one across from it pointing at you and Lawrence, and the other back here so it can get the entire room.”

Matt grins slightly.

“What are the chances of there being a ladder?”

“Hey,” Joel laughs. “You got your internet, don’t go getting greedy.”

They end up roping Adam in to help them while Sean and Bruce assist James in the kitchen. Lawrence bounces between both groups with Adam’s camera, both filming and heckling. Joel wrestles it away from him after twenty minutes, pointing to where Matt’s on Adam’s shoulders and attempting to attach the last camera to the wall.

“Spot them,” Joel demands. He gets a close-up of Lawrence’s put-out sigh before taking a step back to take in the precarious arrangement.

“Please don’t drop Matt,” Lawrence tells Adam. “His muscle mass would drill me through the floor.”

“My kingdom for a drill,” Matt mutters from his perch. “I can’t get this to stay—someone find me a hook.”

“We can cannibalize a plant?” Adam offers, voice strained. “I mean, one of the hanging ones. Take the hook, screw it in over here.”

“Why unscrew it?” Lawrence asks. He points to the nearest plant, which is over towards the door. “We can just pop the camera there.”

Joel shakes his head from behind the camera. “No, the shot will overlap too much with the other one.”

“Where’s the other one?”

Joel points, and Lawrence huffs. “Why’d you put it there? Would have been better over by the master bedroom, so you could see the front door, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about overlap.”

“How often are we going to be using the front door?” Joel counters. “That’s dumb, this angle is better.”

Lawrence crosses his arms. “No, without a shot of the door we can’t do dramatic storm outs,” he insists.

_“I’m_ about to dramatically storm out if you don’t get Matt off my shoulders right now,” Adam grunts, then adds, “Or, dramatically fall down, at least.” Despite his rising ire, Joel points the camera to film Lawrence catching Matt as Adam lets him down.

“We should check the feed on them, anyways,” Matt says once he’s on the ground. “Make sure we’re not recording crap.”

“It’s us,” Lawrence points out. “We’re always recording crap.”

Joel huffs and shoves the camera back into Lawrence’s hands.

“I’ll let you get back to it, then, maestro,” he mutters, and joins the others in the kitchen.

“Joel, can you grab the vodka out of the freezer?” James asks immediately. Joel makes a face.

“You put the vodka in the freezer?”

“There’s no ice yet! Do you want to drink warm vodka?”

“I don’t know that I want to drink _any_ vodka,” Joel confesses, but grabs the bottle anyways. It’s been opened and a generous amount is missing from the top; when he looks up at James, Bruce and Sean are both focused on what seems to be pushing beans around a plate.

“You started without us?” Joel asks. James snorts.

“So much for not wanting to drink vodka.”

“I get left out enough,” Joel threatens. “I’m not DD'ing today, so I’m not going to stand by and be sober while you fucks have fun.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bruce says. “Take a shot.”

“Of spirits,” Sean echoes, then squeaks as Bruce elbows him.

Joel examines the handle of Tito’s, weighs it against his annoyance, and decides it’s not worth it to be mad. He’d driven an unfamiliar car far farther than any of them had expected after an early-morning flight to an undisclosed location—it was natural that he was feeling touchy.

Drinking would be the perfect mechanism to relax with.

“Is there a chaser?”

“Taco meat,” James says promptly.

“Cheese,” Bruce adds.

Sean laughs. “There’s also, y'know, juice in the fridge. Oh wait—no, I have some here.” He waggles a glass of orange juice in Joel’s direction.

“Where are the shot glasses?”

“Kovic! Where are the shot glasses?”

Joel winces at Bruce’s bellow. “Don’t tell me you were just drinking out of the bottle,” he sighs.

“We will not tell you that,” James says diplomatically. Joel sighs but adjusts his grip on the bottle until he can lift it to his mouth.

“Cheers,” he mutters, and takes a mouthful. Tito’s is smooth, but it still burns as it goes down and Joel coughs as he reaches for Sean’s glass. With the taste of straight vodka staining his tongue it’s almost forgivable that he doesn’t place the aftertaste in the orange juice until he’s chugged most of the glass.

Sean giggles.

“Ewww, Joel got his cooties all over the vodka!” James sing-songs. “We were just drinking screwdrivers like normal human beings and he—”

James breaks off to shriek dramatically as Joel throws a nearby towel at his head.

“You monsters,” he croaks. He glares down at the screwdriver, hand covering his mouth. “How much vodka is there in this?”

“It’s about 50/50,” Sean admits.

“60/40,” Bruce corrects. He’s returned with the shot glasses, and has Adam, Lawrence, and Matt in tow. Joel meets Lawrence’s eyes briefly before inclining his head; Lawrence returns the gesture and some of the tightness in Joel’s chest eases. That which remains is the fault of the vodka.

“A toast,” Bruce announces, taking the handle from Joel. “To Funhaus.”

“Don’t pour me one—” Joel starts, but Bruce levels him with a glare.

“Are you anti-fun, Joel?” he demands.

“No, but—”

“Are you anti-haus?” Adam says. Joel laughs, which turns into a cough, which turns into Matt patting him absently before accepting both his and Joel’s shot.

“I got it,” he says. Lawrence looks wounded.

“If anyone should get extra alcohol, it’s me,” he starts. James cuts him off by raising his shot glass in the hand not currently stirring ground beef.

“To us!” he shouts.

Joel’s glad Matt took his shot, because that frees up his hands to retrieve Adam’s camera from the kitchen island, where he’d deposited it next to the shotglasses, and record the others as they throw back the alcohol with various degrees of enthusiasm. Lawrence and Adam share a look before reaching for the vodka for a second round, and Matt turns towards the camera as he raises the shot meant for Joel.

“This is for you,” he says, and tips the shot back without looking away from the lens.

Joel’s laughter is joined by Bruce’s loud _dinner is served,_ to which Adam’s response is, _it’s not served, it’s just here on the counter._ They bicker about the colloquial accuracy of dinner being anything as James prods Joel in the side.

“Gimme the camera,” he says. “Get yourself some food.”

“You’re a doll,” Joel tells him. He turns to tell Matt the same thing, but Matt is already over by Sean, helping him push plates into the hands of the still-arguing Bruce and Adam.

“Can you imagine this place with the Achievement Hunters?” Lawrence asks, handing Joel a plate. Joel grins loosely.

“I’m surprised the building is still standing.”

“I wonder who shared beds?”

Joel laughs and shakes his head.

“I don’t want to know. Some stains are best left unknown.”

Dinner passes in a blur of too-spicy food and the death of the orange juice, meaning they’re all giggly and feisty when the sun finally starts to set.

“How’s the light look, Peake?” Bruce asks. Matt looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor in front of the armchair and squints at the chandelier.

“It’s alright, I guess,” he offers.

“No, the, the cameras,” Lawrence laughs, dragging himself to his feet. He weaves through their minefield of legs and discarded shoes to Matt’s computer. Joel watches him pull up the camera footage with a few deft clicks.

“A little dark in the kitchen,” he calls. “But it’s more—it’s atmospheric, I think.”

“Let me see,” Adam mumbles. Joel groans as Adam peels himself from Joel’s side and goes to join Lawrence at the computer. Joel slides over until he can rest his head on James’ thigh.

“You stay here,” he orders. James rubs absently at Joel’s head like he’s Billie or Benson, not Joel, his human coworker.

“Good boy,” James mumbles. Joel can’t help but snicker into James’ jeans.

“How gay is the behind the scenes for this trip going to be?” he laughs. James soothes his entire palm over Joel’s head in a rough stroke before resuming his scratching.

“About as gay as all the other ones have been.”

Joel hums his agreement, which soon turns into a hum of contentment as James continues to rub his head.

“No fair,” Sean whines from the other couch. “Why isn’t anyone scratching my head?”

“Because you’re facing the wrong direction,” Bruce says. He’s sitting with Sean’s feet in his lap, the iPad propped up against them.

“You’re on the wrong side of the sofa,” Sean accuses. Bruce snorts, but reaches out one hand to rub Sean’s leg with the same absent attention James is giving Joel.

Joel watches them contentedly for a long moment before blinking.

“Sean, don’t you stream soon? It’s Friday, right?”

Sean groans.

“Oh, no,” he says. “I didn’t bring my elgato. Fuck, I promised chat I’d still stream.”

“You can use mine,” Lawrence calls, returning to the armchair. Matt accepts the knee that Lawrence slings over his shoulder rather than move out of the way.

“I love you, Lawrence,” Sean announces, then adds, “Bruce, will you rub my head if I sit on the ground while I stream?”

“Absolutely not.”

The noise Sean makes is heartbreaking enough that it draws Adam away from where he’s been fiddling with the track lighting.

“Aww, Spoole,” he says. “I’ll rub your head.”

“I change my answer,” James says while they watch Sean, Adam, and Bruce shift around until Adam is watching Bruce’s activities on the iPad while massaging Sean’s head with both hands as Sean sits happily between his knees.

Joel breaks off watching them to look up at James.

“This behind the scenes is going to be at least 20% gayer than the others.”

“I’m aiming for 100%,” Lawrence says. “100% more gay.”

“A hundred times zero is still zero,” Joel says through a yawn. It’s Matt, of all people, who snorts.

“Yeah, like any of us are at zero,” he says. Joel feels James’ laugh through where they’re resting against each other. Lawrence sighs.

“Come on, Peake,” he scolds. “It was unsaid. The last thing we need before spending two weeks in a cabin together is for someone to put voice to what we’re all thinking.”

“That Achievement Hunter totally ended up having an orgy when they were here?” Joel offers. Lawrence gestures with his glass.

“Exactly.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” James says. “But now I can’t get the image out of my head.”

“I’m about to go live,” Sean says from his spot on the floor. “Maybe starting the stream talking about gay sex isn’t, isn’t the best idea.”

“What are you playing?” Lawrence asks, drowning out Matt’s lazy, _Should probably get out from between Adam’s legs, then._

“Spooky’s House of Jump Scares,” Sean answers. “They put out the complete game, so I figured I’d go ahead and play it through.”

“Oh, good,” Joel laughs. “The three bravest people can see the screen.”

“I’m absolutely not watching,” Bruce says, still riveted to the tablet.

“And you can’t be in the stream,” James points out. “Your shirt is still on.”

Rather than get up, Bruce pulls away from Adam for a moment to pull his shirt over his head. Adam settles back into his side with a small laugh.

“You’re all fuzzy, Bruce,” he says. “It’s like cuddling Roxie.”

“Except you can’t smell my vagina,” Bruce mutters. Everyone groans.

“What a line to open the stream with,” Sean says, then, “Hello, everyone. I’m joined by the rest of the idiots from Funhaus tonight for a very special game.”

“Spin the bottle,” James shouts. “Joel, you’re first.”

James pulls his hands out of Joel’s hair and it’s jarring enough that Joel is willing to go with the joke, to slide off the couch to crawl over to Sean.

“It’s you, Spoole,” he announces, and leans forward to plant a smacker on Sean’s cheek. Sean wrinkles his nose but doesn’t look away from the rapidly scrolling chat.

“We are drunk, yes,” he answers someone. “James and Bruce made dinner, we had tacos.”

“You helped,” Bruce points out. Sean shrugs.

“Yeah, but I just like, cut things. You guys did all the cooking.”

Joel reads what he can of chat as it goes by, and notices a discussion going on about why Adam has his hands in Sean’s hair.

_It’s because he doesn’t have his hat,_ someone writes, and Joel snorts into Sean’s shoulders.

“They’re there because it feels good,” Joel corrects. He sees Sean’s confusion through the facecam.

“What’s where?”

“You know, Spoole,” Joel says rather than answer seriously. He waggles his eyebrows. “You know.” 

“Sure,” Sean hedges. On screen, he starts clicking through the game’s introduction. Joel peers at the art style, decides it’s not worth it, and abandons the stream for his own computer.

He’s clicking through the subreddit and trying to decide if they should upload something tonight when a warm weight rests on the counter beside him.

“I can cut a short video,” Matt says, resting his head on his hand as he looks at Joel’s screen. “I took some video of the ride here, and Adam’s camera just finished transferring to my computer.”

Joel smiles at Matt. “Read my mind.” Matt somehow manages to shrug without dislodging himself.

“S'good idea,” he explains. “You always have good ideas.”

“Aww, Matt,” Joel laughs. It feels like there’s more to the statement, but Adam and Sean shrieking from the sofa breaks Joel’s train of thought. He looks back to his screen.

“Might be funny to grab a shot from the uh, the fireplace cam,” he says, mind returning to the video. “Lawrence’s 100% gayer thing.”

“Through the, the unspoken sexual tension thing? Like a cliffhanger?”

Joel thinks back. “Didn’t we decide we were thinking about an AchieveMen orgy?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “That was the joke, but not where the conversation was headed. I’ll cut it before then.”

Maybe it’s the tacos, maybe it’s the two screwdrivers, but Joel’s gut prickles.

“That’s kind of damning,” he says. He doesn’t look at Matt. “I mean, I trust your editing, but it seems too…”

He trails off, because the only word that presents itself is _real_ and Lawrence’s warning is still kicking around in Joel’s head.

_The last thing we need before spending two weeks in a cabin together is for someone to put voice to what we’re all thinking._

Matt straightens after the sentence is left unsaid. “We turn it into a trailer for the reality show segment, then. I’ll play around with the footage, see what I can come up with.”

Joel reaches out on a whim and slings his arm around Matt’s shoulders.

“I trust you, Peake,” he says, suddenly emotional. “You do what feels right.”

Matt grins at Joel from the circle of his arms before patting his side.

“Let me get you James’ stool,” he offers. Joel takes it without comment.

“I’m not drunk,” he tells Matt as Matt retreats to his computer.

“We’re all dr—DAMNIT!” Lawrence shouts. Joel looks back to see that Lawrence has joined Adam and Sean—all currently in the midst of one of Spooky’s adorable jump scares, apparently—and that Bruce has retreated to where James is sitting and they’re bent over the iPad together.

Joel shakes his head before turning back to his computer. The tab with twitter is showing a new notification, so Joel clicks over and stares blearily until the tweet resolves itself.

**Geoff Ramsey** @GeoffLRamsey   
@FunhausTeam sure knows how to party. 

Attached is a photo taken through the front door from earlier that day. Joel spots himself in the same position he’s in now, elbows propped on the bar as he looks at James in the kitchen. Sean is standing nearby, smiling at them both. Bruce and Adam are huddled around the coffee table, heads close together as they speak, and Lawrence and Matt are mid-discussion at the desk.

It’s not an extraordinary picture, but Joel’s chest does something strange and probably related to heartburn. He blames the alcohol, which makes him think of a reply, so he grabs the mainly-empty handle and snaps a picture of it with the demolished remains of dinner in the background.

**FunhausTeam** @FunhausTeam  
@GeoffLRamsey We save the party for when @AchievementHunt isn’t around.

He uploads the photo and tweets it before he can second-guess himself. It isn’t until after he’s pressed send that Joel checks the time—it’s barely eight o'clock.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines to no one in particular. “I can’t even go to bed yet.”

“I mean, you totally can,” Adam says, then, “Oh my god, Spoole, _go faster.”_

“She took away my sprint!” Sean says. “I can’t go faster!”

Joel watches Sean run from a monster that, in his estimation, is about as non-threatening as monsters can get. Lawrence and Adam are on the edge of their seats, though, and at each musical cue they flinch and shout for Sean to hurry.

“Right,” Joel decides. “I’m going to bed, then.”

“Goodni—” Sean starts. It morphs into a scream as he takes a wrong turn and ends up getting caught.

Joel laughs at the three cries of terror and leaves them to the stream. James and Bruce both get a pat on the head, and Matt gets a loose hug around the shoulders seeing as he’s nearest to Joel’s room.

“If you need to crash before they’re done, take Lawrence’s bed,” Joel advises. “He’s slept in a hotel bathtub before.”

“At least here there’s a jacuzzi,” Matt muses. He pats Joel’s arm. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Joel manages to change and brush his teeth not because he’s sobering up, but because he refuses to give in to the alcohol. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t collapse on top of his covers and kick his bag onto the ground rather than sit up and move it, however.

He wakes up some time later with a grumbling form pulling the sheets over him.

“Lawrence?” he asks drowsily. “Why are you here?”

“Matt’s in my bed,” Lawrence says, “and Spoole is still streaming.”

Joel considers this, finds the explanation sound, and turns to drape an arm over Lawrence’s back.

“If you snore I will smother you,” Joel warns him. He has no way of knowing whether Lawrence replies because he immediately falls back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Adam wakes up after a scant two hours of sleep, Sean has finally stopped streaming and is stretched out on one of the sofas. He's managed to dislodge the cushions so that they're on top of him, rather than behind him; he's huddled up under them in lieu of a blanket.

Adam creeps into Bruce's bedroom and takes the comforter from where Bruce has kicked it on to the floor.

"Here you go, buddy," he tells Sean. Sean doesn't stir as Adam tucks the comforter around him. After a moment to think Adam retrieves Sean's hat from the other sofa and perches it on Sean's head.

He takes a picture in the dim light from Sean's computer before switching off his monitor. He reaches down to turn his own on, but there's still light from the other side of the room. When he glances over Adam sees an open word document on Matt's screen with comically large font.

_Video half-finished. Someone wake me up at seven._

Adam abandons his computer in favor of Matt's and opens the project file. The video starts with a shot on the empty road, with obnoxiously loud k-pop playing. The camera—which Adam guesses is Matt's phone—pans over until James takes up most of the screen as he lipsyncs along dramatically. Right before the fifteen seconds of copyright strike are up, the shot moves with unerring timing to show Sean, who shakes his head with a pained expression.

There's a title card, then, paired with their typical dramatic music.

_Seven friends,_ it reads, as behind it washed-out footage from previous shorts plays. _Two weeks._

Adam grins before the slide changes again, already anticipating what it says.

_Four bedrooms._

He chuckles as there's a cheerful whistle and the screen changes to a slide that just says GO-PRO. Adam makes a copy of the program file and opens it up to add his own magic to the mix. He finds the start of each of the cameras' footage and puts in every shot of Matt or Joel peering into the lens that there is before opening the files from his camcorder.

There's about an hour of film from Lawrence as he wanders back and forth between the kitchen and the go-pro crew. Adam stops the footage occasionally to cut out certain bits—James and Bruce singing a horrible rendition of the Space Jam theme with various taco ingredients substituted for the lyrics, Sean laughing as he almost overfills his glass with vodka, Joel's fruitless attempts at jumping up on the mantel interrupted by Matt picking him up bodily around the waist. Adam is struggling to find a shot of himself that doesn't involve him smiling stupidly at the camera when his head starts throbbing, reminding him that he's toeing the line between still-drunk and hungover.

After he chugs two glasses of water and checks to make sure Sean is still sleeping soundly, Adam buries himself in the video again.

What feels like no time later, Adam is pulled from his editing by movement from the room he'd left James asleep in. He glances at the time—it's just after seven. He winces and rubs at his eyes, which he just now notices are aching in the telltale and familiar _you were up and on the computer instead of asleep_ complaint. Adam saves his progress and puts his head down on the desk.

"Morning," James says cheerfully a few minutes later. "You haven't been up all night, have you?"

Adam rolls his head to the side to survey James. He's in a tank top and shorts and is in the process of pulling his shoes on.

"I got a few hours sleep," Adam says. "You're not going to the gym, are you?"

"Blaine's getting me in with his visitor passes," James confirms. He glances at the sofa, where Sean is still obstinately asleep. "Do you know what room Peake's in? He said he wanted to come."

"He didn't get to sleep until after I did," Adam says, muscling back a yawn. He straightens up and rubs his eyes again. "I'd let him sleep, you know how he gets."

James laughs softly and stands. "Yeah, he can go jogging later or something. He needs his beauty sleep."

Adam snorts and turns back to his video. He's surprised when, a moment later, James' hands land on his shoulders.

"You should try and catch a few more hours of sleep," James says, digging in to rub at Adam's neck. He groans slightly; Adam hadn't realized how tense his shoulders were.

"If I go to bed again I'm going to wake up with a hangover," Adam mumbles. James continues his impromptu massage.

"Drink a glass of water, take some ibuprofen, and lay the fuck down," he recommends. "I can finish up whatever you're doing when I get back from the gym."

Adam stares tiredly at the franken-video. He's finally finished integrating Matt's editing style into his own, and if James takes over, he'll have to do the same for the sections Adam has edited.

"I'll take a nap after I finish this," Adam says. James' hands still before he's pulling Adam up and out of his chair. Adam goes limp, hoping James will let him go, but James wraps his arms around Adam's torso and starts literally dragging him towards the bedroom.

"James, no," Adam whines. "I'm not, I'm not tired."

"Sure you're not," James agrees. He's dragged Adam across the room at this point, and has to pause to open the door to Bruce's room. Adam tries to escape half-heartedly and ends up pressed fully against James' chest for his troubles.

"What the fuck," Bruce grumbles from the bed. "It's too early, go the fuck away."

"Sure thing," James tells him. He deposits Adam unceremoniously on the bed beside Bruce. "Take care of this for me, will you?"

Bruce mutters something unintelligible before grabbing Adam and spooning him aggressively. The fight leaves Adam's body in a rush as Bruce's furnace-like body heat cocoons him. He drifts off almost immediately and doesn't notice James has gone until he's returning with two glasses of water.

"Here, drink this," he tells Adam, drawing him into a sitting position. Adam sips at the water blearily before attempting to lay back down. James stops him and drops two pills into his other hand.

"Come on," he urges. "Bruce, you too."

"Fuck you, Willems," Bruce mutters, but downs his own ibuprofen and water without sitting up. He coughs as a result and grumbles before settling again. Adam tries again to join him but James tilts the glass against his mouth so Adam has no choice but to drink or drown.

That torture over with, James lowers Adam back to the bed. Bruce reclaims him immediately, and if James returns again, Adam misses it.

He dreams of a ghost in a hat driving him and Lawrence through a series of endless hallways, and wakes up with what tastes like a trucker's ass in his mouth.

"Oh my god," Adam groans. There's no response; when he opens his eyes, he sees that Bruce is gone and the door is closed. Someone has closed the curtains and retrieved the comforter from Sean and wrapped Adam in it, both of which Adam appreciates until he looks over and sees the time. It's past noon.

"Motherfucker," he mumbles, and drags himself out of bed and to the bathroom. He stares at the unfamiliar toothbrush for a long moment before remembering that James had dragged him to Bruce's room, not their own. He pads into the living room no doubt smelling abysmal in the same shirt and jeans from the night before to find Sean and Lawrence sprawled out in front of the TV. Someone's hooked up one of the PS4's to it and Sean is laughing helplessly as Lawrence sends sheep baa'ing into the sky.

"Metal Gear?" Adam asks. His voice comes out as a croak.

"You're up!" Sean says, extending his arms in either triumph or for a hug, Adam can't tell. His head hurts enough that he goes for the latter and folds himself over the back of the sofa and into Sean's arms.

"Hungover?" Lawrence teases. Adam grunts into the cushions.

"I hate Geoff," he mumbles. "I hate Geoff and Tito's and James for making me go back to bed."

"You're lucky you were asleep when Matt woke up," Sean soothes, rubbing light circles on Adam's back. "He spent an hour growling at anyone who tried to get in the kitchen."

"You think he would have been more cheerful," Lawrence says. Sean giggles. Before Adam can ask, Lawrence goes on.

"I'll get you some ibuprofen and something to drink, Adam, go ahead and sit down."

"Not orange juice," Adam pleads. Rather than stand, he lifts his legs into the air and lets himself slide over the back of the couch. He ends up mostly in Sean's lap.

"We're out of orange juice," Sean laughs. "Just coffee, water, and vodka left."

"Not vodka," Adam says plaintively. Lawrence lifts up Adam's legs to reclaim his seat on the couch before settling them over his lap and handing Adam a chipped mug and two pills.

"Not vodka," he says. "Lukewarm coffee."

Adam makes a face, but drinks half of the mug in one go anyways. He's pleasantly surprised to find that Lawrence has added milk and sugar in almost the right proportions.

"Thanks," he croaks. "Where are the others?"

Lawrence picks up the controller and resumes fulton'ing the wildlife. It's Sean that answers.

"Joel and Bruce are at the Rooster Teeth offices, stealing props," he says. "Matt's out running, I think. James is taking a shower."

Adam makes a vague noise of agreement before craning his neck back to look at Matt's computer.

"He finished the video," Sean says, sensing what he's wondering. "It should be done rendering by now."

Before Adam can ask Lawrence is pausing the game to pull up YouTube. Sure enough, there's a subscription alert telling about a new video from Funhaus.

_REAL LIFE UNTIL DAWN,_ the title reads, _Behind the Scenes._ The thumbnail is a still from Sean's stream that's been edited to show Joel lunging for Sean's dramatically terrified face with wide-open jaws.

"Nice," Sean laughs. Lawrence selects the video and presses play. Adam recognizes the first half of the video as Matt's work; there's the series of shots of them on the road, the highlight of which is James slowing to a stop on one of the many back roads they'd traversed and Joel laying on the horn behind them. James rolls down the video as he and Sean laugh and Joel's aggravated, _Drive, you fucking moron!_ drifts over the calm countryside before it cuts to James and Adam on the porch, doing their best to plank on the railing.

"Almost got it," Adam hears himself say, and is ready when Lawrence lunges in from out of shot to playfully push him. It cuts to the inside of the house, to the go-pro footage, and Adam can't help but zone out as his own editing plays.

"I like the music," Lawrence says appreciatively, hand warm on Adam's ankle. Adam shrugs, causing Sean to squeak before laughing.

"It seemed funny at four in the morning," Adam says. He recognizes the sudden clip from Psycho's musical score as Matt falling off of Adam's shoulders into Lawrence's arms; Lawrence and Sean both laugh.

"Nice," Sean says. Adam looks back to the screen as the video continues into unfamiliar territory. It's footage Adam doesn't recognize, of two figures in a bed. He sits up curiously as the person filming draws closer.

It's Joel and Lawrence curled together, Joel's curls peeking out from under Lawrence's chin, Joel's wiry arms encircling Lawrence. Beside Adam, Lawrence bursts into laughter. On the screen, the camera zooms until all that's in the shot is the place where Joel and Lawrence's chests are touching. The screen flickers and there's a burst of static before footage from the go-pro above the fireplace pops up.

_100% More Gay,_ Lawrence says. The words scroll across the screen in various fonts as the shot cuts in closer and slows down, turning the second repetition of _100% More Gay_ into a slow-motion nightmare.

They're so busy laughing at this edit that Adam nearly misses the series of quickfire cuts James makes after that. He catches a shot of him and Bruce spooning, Joel with his head in James' lap, Sean curled up between Adam's legs as he and Lawrence shriek and grab for each other, Matt smiling with his head on Lawrence's knees.

The screen goes black and _To be continued…?_ fades in.

"Bravo," Lawrence says over the endslate. "Our best work yet."

"I'm jealous," Sean laughs. "I don't get to say I edited that."

"No need to be jealous!" James calls. Adam twists his head just in time to catch a flash of dark hair and rosy skin before James finishes tying a towel around his waist.

"Oh my _god,"_ Adam says. He closes his eyes. "You're visible on three fucking cameras, James, put your dick away."

"Don't worry, Adam," Lawrence laughs. "There's not enough resolution in the world to pick up James' dick."

"How dare you," James gasps, reaching for the knot in his towel. "My penis is—"

"Don't!" Sean pleads, voice high. "James, I have to watch all that footage! Think of me!"

James grins as he looks at Sean before spinning and dramatically pulling the towel away. His bare ass practically shines as he saunters back into the bedroom. Adam and Lawrence laugh as Sean wails.

"I think 100% more gay was a conservative estimate," Lawrence chuckles. His thumb strokes Adam's ankle and Adam jerks before pulling away with a laugh.

"Just think," he says. "It's only been one day."

"We haven't even had time to sift any shit," Lawrence says contemplatively. His expression is suddenly mischievous. "Well, unless--"

"James," Sean says suddenly. "James, you're still in one of the shots. Please put some pants on."

"What's the point of being in a cabin with your six best friends if you have to wear pants?" James complains. Adam starts turning to look at him before realizing what he's doing and stopping abruptly.

"I need to brush my teeth, James," he calls, then pauses. "Also, why the hell did you put me in bed with Bruce if you weren't in our bed?"

James' laugh drifts out from the bedroom. "You and Bruce always share when we're traveling. I thought it might help you sleep better."

Adam considers the warm, comforting weight of Bruce's arm across his chest and scowls.

"Yeah, well, don't do me any more favors." James emerges in low-slung sweatpants and a still damp torso and comes to hug Adam over the back of the sofa much as Adam had done to Sean earlier.

"I just want to see you happy," he says, drawing it out sweetly. Adam slips through his grasp and onto the floor rather than suffer James rubbing his freshly-shaved cheek against his.

"Tonight I'm sleeping with you, James," Lawrence says as Adam stands. "That way you can't film me cuddling anyone."

"You think I'm afraid to be implicated in spooning?" James demands. Adam pats his pockets in a fruitless search for his phone; he can tell by James' tone that something worth filming is about to happen.

"Your sense of masculinity is too fragile for true man-on-man cuddling," Lawrence accuses. Adam catches Sean pointing his phone towards them and relaxes before taking hold of Sean's hands to put the phone on its side, rather than straight up and down.

Sean smiles but doesn't look away from Lawrence, who now has James draped over his shoulders.

"You don't want to play gay chicken with me, Lawrence," James warns, bringing up a hand to stroke down Lawrence's cheek. Lawrence's grin doesn't flicker.

"It's not gay chicken if I'm not afraid."

Adam feels his face heat up and looks away rather than watch Lawrence take a hold of James' hair. That's how he catches Bruce's expression as he comes through the front door, a clear container full of props under his arm.

He looks—well, _startled_ doesn't explain the way Bruce's lips are parted, the furrowing of his brow. Adam recognizes the expression from their days at Inside Gaming, when he'd been goaded into narrating the worst of Creepy Text Theatre. At the time, it had been a cross between disbelief and betrayal that people could be so vile. Now, Adam has no idea what it indicates.

"Oh my god," Joel says from behind Bruce, and Bruce's face shuts down. "We're gone two hours and you start making out everywhere."

"They didn't kiss," Sean says, sounding put-out. "Just... just did whatever that was."

"Aww, Sean," Lawrence says. "Are you feeling left out?"

Adam has enough presence of mind to take Sean's phone from him to better film Lawrence attempting to crawl onto Sean's lap, but his mind is still focused on Bruce's expression. When he looks back, Bruce is going through the box with his back to the others.

It's a surprise when Sean takes his phone back, ending the video deftly.

"You're gross, Lawrence," he complains.

"James started it."

"I did not!"

"You're the one that filmed me and Joel cuddling," Lawrence accuses. Joel makes a distressed sound.

"What?"

Adam goes to Bruce while the video is started again.

"Hey," he says. Bruce looks up from his examination of a feather boa and nods.

"Kovic, how are you feeling? You get enough sleep?"

"Yeah," Adam says, shrugging, but Bruce has already turned his attention back to the props. His motions are stilted, abrupt. Adam looks to check that the others are too busy laughing over the new video to crouch next to Bruce.

"What's up?" he asks.

Bruce drops the boa and picks up a sequined vest, seemingly at random.

"Nothing much."

Adam sighs.

"Bruce, what's wrong? Don't bullshit me, just tell me what's got your balls in a twist."

Bruce finally looks at Adam. His mouth is in a firm line.

"It's getting old," he says. "The gay thing. It's like the Sims all over again and I just—I'm just worried the viewers are going to get as sick of it as I am."

Adam's chest tightens at the frustration in Bruce's voice. He legitimately sounds upset.

"It's... it's always been a part of what we do," Adam says. "It's not something we try to do, it just happens."

Bruce's eyebrows draw down. "It feels different," he mutters. "It feels wrong."

The hangover Adam thought he had shaken comes back with a screaming vengeance. It's enough to make his voice shake slightly.

"What changed?"

Bruce must misinterpret what's making Adam sound so weak, because his eyes slam up to Adam's and his expression changes from thunderous to terrified.

"I," Bruce says. His voice is strained. "Adam, I..."

Adam has no idea what the end of the sentence is, because Bruce shakes his head abruptly and looks back into the tub of props.

"You're right," he says. "I've probably just been reading too many YouTube comments." The next moment, he grins up at Adam. "We should do a Comments Show while we're out here," he says. It's like a switch has been flipped—the normal Bruce is back, brimming with energy and ready to work. "We can make a bonfire with the comments after—oh my god, this is brilliant."

He laughs and stands to go tell the others and Adam is left crouching by the container of props, utterly baffled. When he drags his eyes away from the place Bruce had just crouched, Bruce is wielding the PS4 controller and is gleefully scrolling through their latest video's comments. Adam doesn't know how the hell to fit himself into that conversation considering the naked _fear_ he had just seen in Bruce's face, so he heads out to the porch rather than join the discussion.

"Hey Adam," Matt says from one of the benches. Adam jumps.

"Jesus Christ, Peake, how long have you been there?"

Matt shrugs and smiles. "Not long. I was stretching when Bruce and Joel came back from their raid."

"Ah." Adam takes in the sweat making Matt's shirt stick to him, the sheen of his calves, before taking a seat next to him on the bench.

"Careful, I smell," Matt warns. Adam shrugs.

"I still haven't brushed my teeth," he confesses. "James was too busy swinging his dick around for me to get into the bathroom."

Matt laughs before wincing.

"I'm going to have to watch that footage," he sighs. "How mad do you think Joel will be if I leave the censoring up to him?"

"Pretty pissed, I imagine, considering what hell I wrought with your last video," Adam offers. Matt's grin returns.

"I saw," he says. "I liked what you did with it—it felt a lot like the opening of Far Cry 3. I half expected it to end with one of us being executed."  
Adam smiles despite the worry still churning in his gut. "James finished it up this morning. He made it seem like the homolust was the slasher."

Matt shrugs. "It might actually end up as the enemy."

"What do you mean?"

"Two weeks in a cabin together?" Matt says. "Three days in separate hotel rooms is usually enough to get everyone's clothes off."

"You think it's going to reach critical mass?" Adam laughs. Matt shrugs again, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. Adam can't tell if he's serious or not.

"Listen," he says rather than confront that issue. "Have you talked to Bruce today?"

"Yeah, a little when we got up," Matt says, looking over. "Why?"

"Did he seem, angry? Or upset, or something?"

Matt considers this as he takes a swig of water. Adam watches the bob of his throat before catching what he's doing and looking away.

"His stomach is probably hurting him," Matt says after a moment. "It always does after he drinks, doesn't it?"

Adam weighs the truth of this statement against Bruce's eyes widening, his voice going soft.

"Yeah," he says, not entirely convinced. "Yay, us. We get a weekend of grumpy Bruce."

"He seems happy enough now," Matt points out. Adam blinks and realizes that he's been filtering out the noise from inside the cabin. He can hear Joel's laughter as Bruce rants about something, Sean giggling as James interjects.

"Oh no," Adam moans. " Cheerful Bruce. That's even worse than angry Bruce."

Matt opens his mouth to respond but Lawrence coming out to the porch interrupts them.

"You probably want to get back inside," he recommends. "Bruce is doling out costumes, and you don't want what's going to be left."

"What'd you get?" Adam asks. Lawrence winces.

"You know Jack's outfit in GTA?"

"Yeah."

"That."

Adam notices the pair of jean shorts in Lawrence's hands and can't help but laugh, even while he's still worried about Bruce. After a moment, he freezes.

"Wait, that's one of the _good_ choices?"

Lawrence grins.

"Like I said, you need to hurry."

Adam stands and pulls Matt with him.

"Come on," he urges. "Let's go."

He doesn't notice the way Matt hesitates before following him inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt slips away as the others crowd around the prop tub to take a shower and change. He figures he'll end up behind the camera for the majority of whatever they're shooting, so the vestiges of the costume chest will serve him just fine. His legs twinge as he dries himself off, reminding him that it's been too long since he's gone running. 

He ties the towel around his waist and heads out into the living room to grab whatever there's left to wear.

The rest of the crew is in varying stages of undress when Matt emerges. Lawrence has donned his short shorts and too-small Hawaiian shirt, Adam is in lederhosen, James is wearing the signature Vagaband leather jacket—without a shirt, naturally—and jeans so tight they won't button. Joel's wearing a green-screen suit with the hood off and Bruce is—

"Nice," Matt says involuntarily. Bruce twists to grin at him.

"Peake, zip me up," he commands. Matt makes sure his towel is secure before obediently moving to zip up the Ruby Rose costume. Bruce whirls to face Matt as soon as it's zipped and spreads his arms out in a _ta-dah_ gesture.

"How do I look?" he asks. Matt takes a step back to survey Bruce in his entirety. He takes a moment to pick and chose his response.

"The socks need to come off," he decides. "And it'd look better if it was a short-sleeved dress."

"Fuck you," Bruce says immediately, laughing. Matt shrugs.

"You've got good arms, man, you shouldn't be hiding them."

Bruce makes an expression Matt labels as _flustered_ before turning back around wordlessly. Matt sees Adam watching with a frown and catches his eye before raising his eyebrows in question.

Adam shakes his head, lips tight. Matt takes it upon himself to step back towards Bruce.

"What am I wearing?" he asks. Bruce looks up with a renewed smile that, at least to Matt's eye, seems forced.

"I think you'll like it," he says, and reaches down to pick up a few scraps of cloth.

Matt takes them and turns them over in his hands. The black sequined thing seems to be a vest, but the peach undies are utterly baffling.

"I'm wearing granny panties?" Matt says slowly. Bruce claps him on both shoulders.

"They're nude briefs," he explains, clearly proud of himself. "Meant to be pixelated out."

It clicks then. "We're pixelating out my junk," Matt realizes. Bruce beams.

"Yep."

Matt looks back at his costume with a sigh before shrugging into the vest. The briefs he pulls on without removing his towel, wincing as his calves protest bending. When he straightens up Bruce is still right there, so Matt unties the towel and hands it to him.

"You're the boss," he says. "What are we filming?"

"Comment Show," James announces, moving to join them. He doesn't bend his knees when he moves, meaning he hobbles towards Matt awkwardly. "We're doing a roast type thing. Worst comments we can find, then into the fire they go."

"It's too hot for a fire," Matt points out, glancing down at where James is stuffed into his jeans. He had clearly given up zipping them half-way into the process, and Matt can see the waistband of his underwear.

"Eyes up here, Peake," James says, adopting a sultry tone.

"We're having a bonfire," Bruce says loudly—too loudly for how close Matt is.

Matt winces. "In the middle of the day?"

"No, we'll film that bit at night," Lawrence speaks up. "So don't fuck up the costume or anything. We need to dance around a fire like idiots." Matt eyes the midriff Lawrence's shirt is showing off before grinning at the amount of leg visible.

"At least you're not going to burn anything you're wearing," he says. Lawrence drops his eyes pointedly to Matt's chest and lack of pants.

"You're one to talk."

"Joel, I can see your underwear through the suit," Sean says. "Might want to take them off, or change into a tighter pair or something." Matt turns to find Sean emerging from Lawrence's room, a bundle of balled-up clothes in his arms. He's wearing the matching yellow and green dirndl from the Hansel and Gretel short, complete with stockings and a bow on the side of his head. Matt grins widely at Sean's misshapen bust.

"Oh Spoole, honey, no," Joel says. He reaches out for Sean's chest immediately and begins reshaping the top of the dress. "Have you never seen breasts?"

"I've seen them," Sean protests. "I just, I've never had them."

"Adam, can you get me another pair of socks?" Joel says. "Not to bulky, more like, dress socks." Adam clicks his heels and salutes.

"Jawohl," he says, complete with camp German accent. Matt shakes his head.

"How many Nazi jokes are we going to have to bleep out?" He asks James. James' grin nearly splits his face.

_"Nein!"_ he and Lawrence shout at the same time. Matt chuckles and goes to move the prop box into Adam and James' bedroom to get it out of whatever shot they end up having. He hears someone follow him in.

"It's not just me, right?" Adam asks, voice low. "Bruce is acting weird."

Matt joins Adam as he rummages through his luggage for a pair of socks that fit Joel's specifications. "He did seem kind of off," Matt agrees. "But then he was... aggressively cheerful, which seemed more weird."

"Right?" Adam sighs. "He's hiding something, and doing a shitty job of it."

Matt considers how freely Bruce normally speaks his mind, the possible reasons for his reticence. He hides a wince.

"That doesn't bode well," he says finally.

Adam laughs ruefully. "That's what I was thinking." He looks up at Matt, or at least, starts too, but his eyes stutter on Matt's briefs before darting towards the other side of the room. Matt finds his own eyes roaming Adam's legs as he pushes himself up from his the squat.

"He said," Adam starts, then sighs. "He said that the gay shtick was starting to feel wrong."

Matt pauses. Adam seems--anxious. About Bruce? Or…

"Maybe it's getting to him?" Matt offers.

"How so?"

"We've worked together a long time now. You joke about something long enough and it starts to... be real."

He doesn't realize Adam has frozen until Joel's voice makes him come unstuck.

"Adam, I need those socks!" he hollers. "We need to get Spoole's boobs in shape!"

Matt looks back to Adam in time to catch his red face before he moves to the door. He leaves Matt alone without responding.

That's twice now. Twice that Adam has walked away from Matt, twice that it's been about Bruce. Matt isn't sure what it indicates--that he should be the one, or that Bruce is going to be. Managing this many people when the scales are in constant flux has proved to be… much more exhausting than Sean had led Matt to believe.

Three out of seven wasn't bad, though, and there were still two more handles of vodka to go.

And it was only a matter of time before someone started going through the drawers.


	4. Chapter 4

James spends most of the comment video hoping that he's not the one who gets to edit it, because while Matt doesn't move around a lot, everyone crosses in front of him at some point, and it makes James' head hurt to think of going frame by frame for the sake of a joke. He's wondering if it wouldn't be funnier to leave the nude briefs unpixelated when Bruce prods him in the side. 

“Read your comment,” he demands. James moves to the center obediently—not crossing in front of Matt, because he is considerate unlike some people—and lifts his sheet of paper. 

“I don't understand why they're naked so often,” James reads. “They've said multiple times that their viewership is over ninety-five percent male—it's not even fanservice at this point, because none of their fans want to see it. I'm starting to think that they may actually be fucking.” 

Behind James, the others laugh. He glances down at the paper before looking into the lens. 

“Well, buttlicker97, I have two things to say to you,” he starts. Bruce grabs the edge of his jacket and pulls him aside. 

“Save it for the bonfire,” he scolds. “I swear to god, have you even been listening?” 

“No,” James says readily. “I've been thinking about you naked.” 

Bruce laughs and immediately looks away, gesturing to Lawrence. “Go on,” he says. James watches Bruce absently. He seems to have recovered from the funk he'd been in last night, though it's always difficult to tell with him. James had tried to get him to stop going through the Rooster Teeth subreddit thread about first impressions of Funhaus, but of course Bruce had continued far after Joel (then Adam, then Matt, then Lawrence, then Sean) had passed out. James had ended up goading Bruce into more shots to get him away from the iPad before forcing him into bed—ostensibly because Sean had to sleep and the light from the tablet would bother him. Considering Sean could sleep through a fucking tornado, it had been a lie, but drunk Bruce had been willing to go with it. 

It's hard not to grin when James remembers Bruce's scowl when he'd stumbled out of his room to find James editing the next morning. 

_“You motherfucker,”_ he'd accused. _“You are unbelievable.”_

_“I love you, too,”_ James had responded absently, and that had been it as Bruce had commandeered the jacuzzi to attempt to drown his hangover. 

“Why the fuck are you smiling?” Lawrence demands, twisting to look at James. He shakes the paper in his hands. “This is disgusting.” 

“Sure,” James agrees, schooling his expression. Lawrence raises an eyebrow, and James shrugs unrepentantly. “I'm sorry, I was thinking about Bruce naked again.”

“Oh my god,” Bruce chokes, and presses his face into the stack of papers he's holding. 

Lawrence grins. “The, the moles?” he asks. “They're adorable, aren't they?” 

“I wouldn't have guessed they'd go all the way down to his dick,” James says, ready to play along. Bruce swats at him with his papers. James can't feel it through the heavy leather jacket, but he still recoils. 

“Bruce!” he cries. “I told you I wasn't into the hitting! 

“Rack!” Lawrence says, nonsensically. Bruce pauses and mimes putting his papers onto a shelf, and everyone squints at Lawrence, so James clearly isn't the only one confused. 

“Risk-aware consensual kink,” Lawrence sighs. “Honestly, do you guys not go on the internet?” 

“Not the parts you do!” Joel accuses. “I thought it was, what, SSC?” 

“That's a college” James says. 

“Safe, sane, and consensual,” Sean speaks up. James switches his stare from Lawrence to Sean, who turns bright pink. 

“It's, I know from chat,” he defends. “On Fridays we talk about sex—“ 

“What the fuck kind of streaming do you do?” Bruce demands. “We're not doing a great job asserting our heterosexuality, guys.” 

“What does BDSM have to do with heterosexuality?” Lawrence asks. “Though I will give you that there's a higher correlation between homosexuals and sexual deviancy because they're already breaking one taboo—“ 

“Are you calling gay people freaks?” Joel demands. Lawrence raises his hands defensively. 

“That is absolutely not what I just said,” he starts. James looks to Adam to try and get him to step forward and read his comment through eye contact alone, but Adam is staring at Bruce, and James sighs and does it instead. The argument raging around him has managed to make him forget about the tightness of his jeans and he doubles over as soon as the fabric digs into his balls. 

“Oh my god,” he wheezes into the sudden concerned silence. Lawrence's hand lands on his lower back.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks. James tries to straighten, finds it cuts off more of his delicate circulation, and settles on going to his knees and pressing his face into the ground rather than answering. 

“Wow,” Joel says. James hears him only distantly because of his dramatic moaning. “Nice ass.” 

“Next time James should wear the dress,” Matt suggests. 

Despite the discomfort he's still in, James wiggles his ass is in the air. It prompts laughter, and more importantly, it finally makes Adam step forward. 

“Nurple underscore purple sixty-nine writes, just fuck already.” 

Adam steps back and James accepts Lawrence's arm to haul himself up. 

“That's it?” Sean laughs. “I'm not even sure that's negative, that's just, that's just someone trying to look out for us.” 

“We'll fuck when we're good and ready,” Lawrence tells the camera, still holding onto James' arm. “Not a moment sooner.” 

“I don't think I want to fuck Lawrence,” James says, raising his eyebrows. “I'm not sure how I feel about all that rack stuff.” 

Lawrence levels James with an even look. “Oh, right,” he accuses. “Like you wouldn't want someone to—“ 

“Guys,” Bruce interrupts, voice sharp. Lawrence's hand tightens on James' arm as he jumps and looks back towards Bruce, then falls away as Bruce continues.

“Can we get back on track?” 

James looks back to Lawrence and gets a _go on_ gesture. He immediately wonders why he had waited for it before returning to Bruce's side.   
Bruce turns slightly towards James without saying anything as Joel steps up to read his comment. He's the last in line, and as soon as he's done Bruce goes to stop the camera. 

"Alright," he declares. "I think it's time for a nature hike." 

"Can we change first?" James asks, looking down. 

"I second that motion," Sean says. "My thighs are chafing." 

"At least you're not sweating like a pig," Joel starts. James hears Sean squeak and looks back in time to see Joel stripping out of the suit, heedless of his tight briefs. 

"Nice," Lawrence says, and immediately starts pulling off his short shorts. 

"Can we please change off camera?" Sean whines. "Some of us have to watch that footage." 

"All of us have to watch that footage," James points out, shimmying out of his too tight jeans with a sigh of relief. He ends up having the towel Matt had been wearing earlier thrown at him by Bruce, who'd pulled it off the tripod with a sound of disgust. 

"Get your voyeuristic ass into a bedroom," he orders, "after you unzip me." 

James laughs but obediently moves to free Bruce from his dress. He can hear Sean negotiating Adam doing the same for him as he moves to his bedroom to grab more appropriate clothing. Adam joins him just as James is buttoning his shirt. 

"Long sleeves?" he asks, sliding out of his too-large lederhosen. James rolls up the cuffs of the flannel shirt with a shrug. 

"There are bugs in nature," he points out. "They like biting.”

“I don't remember the last time I saw you in a long sleeved shirt,” Adam says thoughtfully. James grins.

“You like what you see?” he teases. Much to his surprise, Adam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose instead of playing along.

“What is it?” James asks. Adam glances at the door before sitting heavily.

“Just something Bruce said,” he sighs. James raises his eyebrows.

“Oh? Does it have to do with the fact that he's acting like there's a cactus up his ass?” 

Adam laughs and gestures. “You've noticed it too?” He shakes his head. “God _damn_ it, Bruce.”

“What did he say?” James asks, drawing closer. Adam sighs again.

“He says the gay stuff is getting old or something.” He shrugs. “That it doesn't feel right.”

"Aww," James says, pitching his voice cutely. "Is Bwuce making you feel bad about your sexuawity?" 

Adam's face contorts. "Never say that again," he says. 

"Sexuawity?" James asks cheerfully. Adam shudders dramatically. 

"Nature hike!" Bruce bellows from the living room. James rolls his eyes and goes to grab a pair of jeans that actually fit. He hears Adam stand and rummage through his luggage. 

"I don't have a long sleeved shirt," he says with a sigh. "Do you have one I can borrow?" 

James frowns. 

"I don't think so," he admits. "Maybe Joel has one?" 

Adam snorts. "Like I'm getting that on." 

James shrugs and toes on his shoes. "There's always the GTA jacket," he offers. Adam groans. 

"But it's so hot," he complains. James rolls his eyes and goes to the door. 

"Does anyone have a long sleeved shirt Adam can borrow?" he calls. A red flannel shirt flies out from Lawrence's room. James laughs as he retrieves it. 

"Look, Adam, we'll match," he says. Adam rolls his eyes but pulls on the shirt anyway as he emerges into the living room. 

"Do you think people will be able to notice we're a couple?" he asks dryly, then freezes and looks over at Bruce. 

Bruce, who's wearing a red flannel shirt. 

James laughs, delighted. "Threeway!"

Bruce rolls his eyes. "I'll change," he says. James catches him before he can get more than two buttons undone. 

"No," he laughs. "I like it, leave it on." 

Bruce makes a face but lets James pull his hands away. 

"You're gay,” he huffs. James reaches up and taps Bruce's nose before he can pull away.

_“You're_ in denial,” he accuses. Bruce flinches—honest to god flinches, like James had slapped him rather than booped him on the nose. James freezes until Joel's voice rings out across the room.

“Don't tease him,” he scolds. “Bruce is taking longer than the rest of us, and that's just fine.”

James is still staring at Bruce, which is why he sees the fear, panic, and disgust march across his face in quick succession. 

“You're joking, right?” he says.

“No,” Lawrence says, emerging from his room with Matt on his heels. “Last night Joel and I made sweet, sweet love while Spoole streamed.”

Joel laughs. “That's news to me,” he says. 

“Jesus christ,” Bruce mutters. James doesn't know he's planning on speaking until he is.

“Do you have a problem or something?” he asks. Bruce glances over at him.

“A problem with what?”

James purses his lips, but he's in it now, and like hell if he's going to back down. “If Funhaus became Fuckhaus.”

Bruce blinks rapidly. “Are you _angry?”_ he asks, laughing. “Something you'd like to share with the class, James?”

“Yeah,” James says. He crosses his arms. “I think you acting weird about us joking about fucking is making things worse than us actually fucking would.”

Bruce's smile fades into a hard line. 

“I don't know what you're—“ he starts.

“Bullshit,” James interrupts. “I don't know if it's your head or your panties up your ass, but your fucking machismo is all over what we just recorded. Do you even notice that you're killing jokes or are you too caught up in your fucking _no homo_ nation?"

He thinks it might pull a laugh out of Bruce, or a sigh and a shake of his head, but no--Bruce's fists clench. James unconsciously moves his own legs farther apart in anticipation of the blow out of habit, years of wrestling come back to damn him. It doesn't come, of course, because it's Bruce and not someone in the ring, but Bruce's face still shuts down when he spots what James is doing.

“Fucking, really?” he asks, voice soft—dangerous. “Is this a mutiny? You think I can't do my job because of--because of personal shit?”

“That's not it,” Adam says, voice soothing, but Bruce doesn't back down.

“It sure fucking sounds like it is,” he says, and takes a step forward. James tenses as Bruce gets into his space. “So yeah, I'd say I have a problem. I'd say we all have a problem.”

“Yeah?” James grits out. Some part of him knows that this is ridiculous, this isn't the way the conversation needs to happen, but he _is_ angry and Bruce _is_ being an ass. “Would you say that problem is our boss and supposed _friend_ treating us like the rest of the homophobic shitbags on the internet? Because I gotta say, getting abuse from the comment sections is one thing—getting it from within the company is something else entirely.”

“Abuse?” Bruce repeats. His face is thunderous. “You want to know what abuse is, Willems? You want me to use the fact that somehow _I_ ended up being the one in charge to make you put your money where your mouth is? You want me to fire you if you refuse to fuck?”

“Like you'd fuck one of us,” James snaps. “Clearly we're all so objectionable—“

“Cut it out,” Matt says, suddenly _right there._ “You're both being stupid.”

James doesn't look away from Bruce, who doesn't look away from him. They're both glaring, both thoroughly rustled. Matt brings up his hands and places one on both of their chests.

He pushes slowly but inexorably until both Bruce and James are forced to take a step back. James is suddenly acutely aware of how fast his heart is beating, how red his face is. Bruce must go through a similar revelation because he takes another step back before whirling on his foot and leaving the cabin.

The door slams behind him.

“I told you having the front door in the shot was a good idea,” Lawrence says, sounding tired and a little stunned. Joel laughs weakly.

“I guess it was.”

“Someone tell me this was part of the reality show idea,” Adam says. Matt shakes his head.

“We're not that good at acting,” he points out. Sean says nothing as he makes his way across the room and starts after Bruce.

“What _was_ that?” Lawrence asks. “James, are you insane?”

“Why?” James asks sharply. “Because I deal with twelve-year-olds on the internet calling us _faggots_ and don't want to deal with it from my boss?”

“Bruce would never,” Joel starts, voice just as hard. It's Lawrence that finishes the sentence.

“He's your friend first, James,” he says. “Boss second. I know that, you know that. We all know that. And what you did there—that wasn't very friendly.”

“It's my fault he's having a gay crisis, or whatever?” James demands. Matt snorts.

“To be fair, you're probably a large portion of it.”

Adam laughs but immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. James tries to glare at Matt, but he's looking back at James so calmly, _patiently,_ that James finds himself turning over the last few sentences in his mind.

“Bruce is having a gay crisis?” he says. Lawrence throws up his hands.

“Hallelujah, it's finally been voiced.”

It feels like James is a balloon that's been punctured and all the anger whooshes out of him.

“Bruce is having a gay crisis,” he repeats. “And I—oh, fuck.”

“It's okay,” Joel says. “Show of hands, who else is having a gay crisis?”

Joel raises his hand, as does Adam. Lawrence and Matt shrug.

“Not a crisis,” Lawrence says. “It's been one of those slow revelation things.”

“How,” James starts, and stops when his voice cracks. They all grin; James tries again. “What was the first sign?”

Lawrence raises his eyebrows. “The inappropriate workplace boners were a pretty good sign,” he says. Matt rolls his eyes.

“I'd say the fact that none of us can hold down a relationship for more than a month is telling.”

James takes both of these things into consideration. Slowly, he raises his hand.

They stand there like idiots until the door bangs open again.

“I can't find him,” Sean says grimly. He looks upset.

“Are you having a gay crisis, Spoole?” James asks. Sean looks up, noticing their raised hands.

“I'm having a _crisis,”_ he says. “I can't find Bruce. Both of the cars are here but he doesn't have his phone, I tried, I tried calling him.”

“We're having gay crises,” James says helpfully. 

“I'll help you look,” Matt sighs. “Joel, you can read trail signs, right?”

“Yeah,” Joel says, seeming to rouse himself from the stupor they'd all fallen into. He lowers his hand. “Yeah, I'll be able to find my way back.”

“I've never been in a forest,” Adam says dubiously. Matt nods towards Joel. 

“You go with him,” he says. “Spoole and James, you come with me.”

“What about me?” Lawrence asks. 

“You stay here in case Bruce comes back,” Matt says. Lawrence nods briskly.

“I'll check the roads first,” he says. “Make sure he didn't go out that way.”

Tasks assigned, they grab their phones, a few bottles of water, and head out for the most haphazard and sexually confused search party that's ever been attempted. It's--James thinks that it must be shock that propels them through it, the desperation for having a purpose. If they can't find themselves metaphorically, or whatever, at least they might be able to find Bruce.

“Hey,” Joel says as they leave, touching James' arm. They both flinch slightly at the contact before Joel rallies.

“It'll be okay,” he says. James laughs.

“Sure,” he agrees, trying to sound as non-skeptical as possible. “I'm sure all of this is going to blow over.”

Joel looks like he's going to say something, but Matt calls to James from the treeline.

“Come on, we're burning daylight.”

_“Burning daylight,”_ James repeats, rolling his eyes. It pulls a smile out of Joel.

He grins in return despite everything, squares his shoulders, and follows Matt and Sean into the forest.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce has lived in LA his entire life. This means a couple of things—first, that he's slightly nonplussed by large amounts of nature. Second, that every tree looks pretty much like every other tree. Third, that he realizes he's lost just about the time that Sean stops calling his name.

"Fuck," Bruce announces. He reaches for his pocket, but of course he doesn't have his phone. "Fuck," he says again for good measure.

Nature makes accusatory nature sounds back at him, but otherwise, there's no reply.

Bruce debates the wisdom of simply turning around and going back the way he had came, but he had taken every turn possible in his anger and hadn't bothered to remember which ones. Next, he considers climbing a tree, but then he remembers the last time he'd been any distance off the ground and the bruises he'd had to show for it.

Finally, Bruce turns in a circle, looking for any hint of the cabin. There is none, but he does see a break in the trees, and heads there more out of a crushing desire to find something than out of any recognition.

He finds the saddest looking creek in existence and sighs before taking off his shoes and socks and dipping his feet in.

There was nothing for it except to wait for his dumb friends to find him.

 _Maybe friends,_ his mind provides helpfully. He scowls at the water. Of course they were his fucking friends. Not literally fucking, although that seemed to need a modifier of _not yet_ —but Bruce wasn't thinking about that. He absolutely fucking wasn't.

Nope. No. _Not at all._

Bruce splashes his feet hard enough to disturb the silt at the bottom of the creek. It doesn't make him feel much better.

_...what if they **were** fucking, though?_

It would be a disaster, is what it would be. Things had been complicated enough when Bruce and Lawrence had had to learn how to live with each other. Arguments over cooking, over dishes, over the ethics of leaving the other behind while biking to work—it had been a nightmare. Fun, admittedly, because Lawrence wasn't bad to live with and made a mean omelet, but he got really huffy when Bruce didn't wait for him at intersections and his nose would scrunch up in the most adorable—

Bruce purses his lips. It was _horrible,_ knowing so much about Lawrence, because that meant their ribbing on camera was... well, more genuine, and they _had_ been getting comments about their chemistry, and people were more intrigued by the inside jokes than upset. But that was just two people. Funhaus was seven people, seven grown men who should know better than to shit where they eat.

Burnie had told them when he'd come to LA that first time—your chemistry is what makes you. Same with Achievement Hunter. There was something addictive about watching friends produce content together, and when that chemistry stops working, there's no getting around it.

Fucking would change them. Fucking would _ruin_ them.

Not to mention, Bruce isn't even gay—not even a little bit. Sure, he... can appreciate the aesthetics of a man who takes care of his body, like James, or a sharp dresser, like Joel. And Adam's beard and reluctant awkwardness is appealing, just like Sean and his violent innocence paired with flashes of the obscene. Lawrence is fucking smart, and a hard worker, and so fucking open—who wouldn't find that attractive? And Matt is a rock in the buffeting waters of life, always steady and unmoved by the tides. Obviously, _obviously_ they're good people, and Bruce likes them.

That doesn't mean he's gay, though.

Not that he has a problem with it! A problem with... whatever it is. James was just... overreacting, feeling sensitive from reading too many comments without having a chance to respond. And Adam, he was just a gentle dude—of course he'd pick up on the littlest fucking changes. Because Bruce hadn't, he hadn't really... well, he'd... he _had_ kind of freaked out there, when he'd walked in on Lawrence and James about to kiss. It had to have been the shock of it. They'd done plenty of gay shit in the past but it was a joke, it was funny, it wasn't—it hadn't felt like a physical blow to Bruce's chest, a hand strangling his heart.

He'd still been reeling when Adam had asked him what was wrong, that's the only reason that Adam's soft question and sincere gaze had compounded the feeling.  
Bruce isn't gay.

Bruce isn't into his coworkers. His _employees,_ because technically he's listed as the boss, has the final say in when they come into work and who gets time off. Not that that's ever kept the others from deciding those things on their own; they're about as concerned with Bruce's authority as he is—which is not at all.

But technically, _technically,_ getting involved with the others—if he _wanted_ to, which he doesn't—would test their dedication to the oligarchy. Would lead to the same issues that he'd had upon moving in with Lawrence, the same teasing jokes, the same calm concern that he was over-thinking things, the same hands on his shoulders that would drag him away from the computer and into bed... except sixfold.

Which would be horrible. Awful. Nothing... nothing Bruce wanted.

“Fuck no,” Bruce mumbles. Even to his ears, it sounds more resigned than outraged.

“It wouldn't work,” he says, aiming for firm. He lands on quizzical.

“It's _stupid,”_ he snaps, and _that_ at least seems sincere. Bruce seizes on this truth and pushes at it.

“A relationship would be stupid.”

It's... not right. He tries again.

“We're stupid.”

Almost.

 _“I'm_ stupid.”

Bruce can visualize the bar in his head going from 99% to 100. The information uploads into his brain and his chest and he inhales sharply before repeating himself. 

“I'm fucking _stupid.”_

 _I think you acting weird about us joking about fucking is making things worse than us actually fucking would,_ James had said, and James had been right. He'd been fucking right. The seven of them had excelled, had fit together perfectly, had built themselves a fanbase and gotten hired by fucking _Rooster Teeth_ out of all places, and it had all been built on communication. Talking to each other _honestly._

They'd been in a relationship for years—platonically, at least. Adding romance or sex or whatever other gay shit to that wasn't the problem. It was the _lack of communication._

Burning with a new determination, Bruce stands. He immediately slips on the silt-covered stones he'd created with his earlier temper tantrum and ends up with his ass in the water.

“Motherfucker,” Bruce starts.

“Bruce?” the forest answers.

“Bruce!” it says again, in a different voice.

“Yeah?” Bruce hazards. He hears two cries of jubilation; it's Joel and Adam. His stomach lurches, but he forces himself to go on. “I'm uh, over here. In the creek.”

There's not a good way to hide the fact that he's soaked from the waist down so Bruce stays where he is as the others crash towards him. Their twin looks of confusion are worth the gross water seeping into his underwear.

“What's uh, what's up?” Joel asks, approaching warily. Adam is holding his phone, which Bruce could kiss him for—they'd have some salvageable content yet. He zeroes in on the lens when he speaks.

“I'm just cooling off,” he says seriously.

There's silence for a moment before Joel throws up his hands.

“Seriously?” he demands. “You run into the forest in a huff and this is—all you have to say for yourself is a stupid fucking pun?”

Bruce looks up at Joel. “Hey,” he says. “I'm sorry.” He hauls himself out of the creek and onto land. “Let me—“

“No,” Joel starts, but not quickly enough to prevent Bruce from grabbing him into a hug that involves a lot more lower-body contact than Bruce is honestly ready for. It's worth it to hear Joel's squeal, though, and to see Adam's pinched expression ease behind the camera.

“I hate you!” Joel howls, finally prying Bruce off of him and glaring down at his wet pants. “Next time I'm leaving you in the forest, you bully!”

“Next time I'm taking my phone with me,” Bruce says, dropping to the ground to pull on his socks and shoes. “It really put a damper—“ (Joel groans again) “—on my dramatic exit when I realized I was going to die cold and alone.”

“So you're feeling... less dramatic now?” Adam hazards. Bruce glances up in time to see him end the recording and lower his phone. Their eye contact is just this side of _too intense,_ but it feels—honest.

Bruce forces himself to speak, to open his stupid fucking mouth and say, “Less alone, too.”

All three of them suck in a breath before, abruptly, Joel bursts into laughter.

“Less dramatic my ass,” he chuckles. “That was like a line out of a fucking romcom, Bruce.”

“Yeah, Bruce,” Adam adds. “Don't make it _gay.”_

The tension eases from Bruce's chest and lets him glare at the others without reservation.

“I'm not the one making it gay,” he accuses. “It's you guys, you and your—“

“You were wearing a dress literally half an hour ago!” Joel interrupts.

“'Wow, nice ass,'” Adam quotes, looking over at Joel. Bruce crosses his arms.

“'Just fuck already,'” he reminds Adam. Adam throws up his hands.

“I was reading a comment! Bruce, I'm on your side!”

“What the fuck does that mean? What side is that? The anti—oh, fuck.” Joel cuts off abruptly as his phone starts ringing. He fishes it out and answers it with a muttered, _it's Peake._

“No—yeah, we found him. Out by a stream? Yeah, I know how to get us back. We'll be there soon.” His eyes dart over to Bruce, who raises his eyebrows in question.  
“Spoole is angry at you,” Joel relates. “And James—James, I'm not telling him that.”

“Telling me what?” Bruce demands. Joel rolls his eyes and hands Bruce the phone.

“—because he referred to it as a mutiny, I mean,” James is finishing.

“What?” Bruce asks.

“Oh captain, my captain!” James erupts. “If you want to roleplay the fuck or get fired thing, I'm—“

Bruce hangs up on him before the blush can burn its way to his face. He holds the phone out to Joel and gestures vaguely towards the forest.

“Lead the way,” he says. Joel stares at him for long enough that Bruce finds himself waggling the phone in the air pointedly.

“Joel,” he prompts. “Joel, take us back to the cabin.”

“That's it?” Joel demands—not exasperated, more... baffled. “We're cool, just like that? Back to jokes about fucking and waving our dicks around?”

Bruce lowers the phone and forces himself to think about what he says before opening his mouth.

“We're always going to joke about it,” he says, glancing at Adam. “It's part of what we do.” He takes a deep breath and forges on. “I think it's time to talk about it, though. Not the jokes, the... underlying...” Bruce tries to shape the idea in the air, fails, and sighs.

“Stuff,” he settles on. Adam snorts. Joel finally takes his phone.

“I am scared shitless,” he admits. Bruce claps him on the back.

“That's good, I think.”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees. “Shit gets in the way of all the hardcore anal sex we're going to have.”

Joel chokes on his gasp and Bruce bursts out laughing.

“Is the tension diffused?” Adam asks dryly. “Did I do it?”

“Shattered,” Joel manages through his coughing. “Alright, I—I'm leaving, come on.”

The way back to the cabin is much less convoluted than Bruce had expected; it turns out he had managed to zig-zag his way around another path, which Joel leads them down at a brisk pace. Bruce's thighs chafe in his wet shorts; it's a welcome relief to grumble about his discomfort rather than start The Talk with Adam or Joel. That doesn't mean Bruce can't feel Adam watching him as they walk, however, and draws short once the cabin is in sight.

“You're not running away again,” Joel warns. Bruce flaps his hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I just—I wanted to talk with Adam, don't get your balls in a twist.”

Joel rolls his eyes but continues forward without them. Bruce turns to Adam with a mariachi band playing a lively set in his stomach.

“Bruce?” Adam asks. He looks as uncertain as Bruce feels.

“I'm sorry I lied,” Bruce says. “About being fine, or whatever. I—you're my friend, and I should have trusted you.”

He's not expecting for Adam's expression to ease, then twist into something bordering on incredulous.

“You didn't lie, Bruce,” he says. “You told me the truth—that something had changed in tone and that it felt off.”

Bruce tries to argue this and finds he can't. “Still,” he says. Adam reaches up, hesitates, and then squeezes Bruce's shoulder. Bruce swallows.

“Don't sell yourself short,” he tells Bruce. “You put voice to what... I mean, it needed to be said, and you were the first one who said it.”

“Go me,” Bruce says weakly. Adam's smile is a punch in the gut—if Bruce had needed confirmation of everything he's afraid of, the warmth that radiates out from his belly is enough.

By all rights, the moment _should_ shatter when Lawrence's voice rings out from the porch.

“Get your asses inside,” he calls. “The food is getting cold.”

“Are Peake and the others back?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, they're inside. I used your recipe, by the way.”

“The—the pork tenderloin one?”

“Turned out well, I think.”

“If they're good I get the credit,” Joel announces.

Adam rolls his eyes and smiles wider. Bruce catches his breath.

It's—it's real, what they have is so fucking _real._

He reaches up and clasps Adam's shoulder in lieu of putting him in a headlock out of emotional constipation.

“I'm not fucking around, there's not going to be anything left for you if you don't come inside,” Lawrence warns. Bruce uses it as an excuse to clear the tightness from his throat and start inside. He's not prepared for Adam to catch up and slip his arm into Bruce's.

“Gay,” Bruce chokes out. He feels Adam's shrug as they climb the stairs.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Bruce doesn't have time to worry about how terrifying that new truth is before they're inside and the smell of roasted meat and cranberries drives all concern from Bruce's mind.

“This is my recipe,” Joel is telling Matt. “Mine. My idea.”

“You're a culinary master, Joel,” Sean says through a mouthful. “Can you get me a drink please?”

Like the animals they are--skittish and entirely willing to stall, even now--they abandon conversation in favor of grabbing food and beverages for all. Lawrence, Adam, Matt, and Sean all opt for beers, while James swirls his space food in between sips. Bruce opts for a glass of cold coffee and starts a new pot brewing at Joel's urging.

“This is good, Lawrence,” he says around a bite of pork, then bites the bullet and raises his voice. “Also, meeting in session, everyone pipe down.”

It's not as stressful as Bruce had thought it would be as the others dutifully wind down their conversations to look at him expectantly. Bruce chews and swallows—and, yeah, okay, it's a little hard getting the meat down—before putting his plate on the counter and taking a sip of coffee.

That done, there's nothing left to distract himself with, and Bruce meets each of their gazes in turn.

“It has come to my attention that one or more of us may have... more than platonic feelings towards one or more of the group,” he says as evenly as he can.

“I knew it,” James stage whispers. The rest of them titter, and Bruce finds it easier to go on.

“In the interests of workplace synergy and—what was it Jack called it?”

“Sifting the shit,” Joel provides. Bruce nods.

“Exactly, thank you—I, as your boss, decree that we're going to have it out now.”

There's silence until Matt puts down his fork to reach for his beer.

“I'm in,” he says.

“I second the motion,” Adam adds. Lawrence laughs.

“All in favor?”

Bruce raises his hands, as do the rest of them. It's stupid, it's perfunctory, it's absolutely _them,_ and Bruce toasts them all with his mug.

“Motion passed,” he declares. “Who's touching tips first, then?”

The groan is instantaneous and properly disgusted.

“Shouldn't we sleep on it?” Adam finally asks.

“Sleep on the tip?” James demands, sounding scandalized.

“No, the—I mean, this is all sudden, isn't it?”

Matt snorts indelicately. “Sure,” he says. “The clothed groping and in-depth discussions on blowjobs, those weren't leading up to this at all.”

“Everyone talks about blowjobs,” Joel protests.

 _“Everyone_ being the seven of us,” Lawrence points out. “Not the best sample size.”

“I used to talk about blowjobs with friends in high school,” Adam says.

“Yeah, and did you sleep with them?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Case in point.”

“We haven't slept together!” Joel protests. “Unless you count, literally sleeping, which we kind of do all the time.”

Bruce relaxes against the counter as the argument rages around him. It goes from a debate on whether or not “normal” people discussed sex without having it with each other, to questioning whether or not Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin ever banged, to a shouting match about how homoerotic wrestling may or may not be.

“James, I did it for four years—believe me, I want to believe it isn't, but it absolutely _is,”_ Sean insists.

“He's right,” Lawrence says. James shakes his head belligerently.

“I don't know what you did in high school, but rolling around on the ground in spandex with another man is absolutely not homoerotic,” he says. Matt sets down his second empty beer next to his first and moves into the living room.

“Where are you going?” Joel calls.

“I'm going to wrestle James,” Matt says simply. Bruce takes it as his cue to rejoin the conversation.

“Before we do that,” he says, “we need to get a fire going.”

“But,” James starts, sounding conflicted. Bruce shoves him on his way past.

“Nope. Let's go, people. Kovic, get the camera.”

By the time Sean points out that had planned on doing the second half of the video in costume Joel and Matt have already started the fire in their makeshift pit—assembled in a bit of clear ground with stones from the driveway—and Bruce is too excited about the prospect of giving them all some closure that he hushes Sean with a finger on his lips before sending him inside to grab the papers. He returns with the stack plus a stupid s'mores making kit that he says had been in with the groceries.

Lawrence and James start a search to find the perfect toasting sticks as Adam tries to frame them and the fire in a way that doesn't reduce most of the shot solid darkness. At some point Matt and Sean end up hauling the benches down from the porch, Joel brings out the Tito's, and Lawrence shouts at Adam until he abandons the camera to eat his first s'more. Bruce doesn't realize they've forgotten the video they set out to make until he accidentally kicks the stack of papers into the fire and a gust of wind scatters the burning pages to the heavens.

Sean has the foresight to at least grab the camera as they scramble to collect the pages—tripod and all—as Adam shouts about Slender and Joel wails about Smokey the Bear coming to get them.

By the time the fire has burned down and they head inside Bruce has completely forgotten about the panic from earlier, and when he and James try and go through the front door at the same time and end up squeezed together, both of them grinning stupidly, it feels... honest to hook a hand around James' neck and pull him in for a kiss.  
James tastes like marshmallows and shitty chocolate and Bruce's head fills with smoke until there's a low sound from behind them. From the porch. Which they're blocking.

“Is this it?” Lawrence asks. His voice is low, amused. “Is it happening?”

“All in favor,” Matt starts. Bruce releases James and moves inside before Matt can call a vote.

“Okay,” he says, trying to sound commanding and missing the mark by miles when his voice cracks. “How is this going to work?”

 _“This_ being a seven person gay orgy?” Joel asks.

“I think,” Sean starts, “I'm going to turn the cameras off.”


	6. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence's sex-filled Friday, otherwise known as _why Lawrence ended up in Joel's bed._

Not to say that Lawrence is a genius, but he absolutely saw this night coming a mile a way. Well—had _hoped,_ really, because there was nothing certain about his relationship with his coworkers except that they were all laughing at the end of the day. In the months since they’d decided to leave Machinima together, though, there’s been something… simmering. Some energy that Lawrence isn’t superstitious enough to call anything but sexual tension, and once he made _that_ realization, well.

The past few months have been hell.

Lawrence had spent the first few weeks after Funhaus’ creation half expecting him and Bruce to get drunk and make-out and to kick off the orgy there, but Bruce wasn’t big on drinking, and Lawrence couldn’t get a good enough bead on Bruce’s state of mind to attempt it sober. That wasn’t so bad, though, because Bruce and Adam clearly had a thing, and Bruce and James had a thing, and Lawrence had a thing with Joel and—it went on, and on, in all possible combinations, and surely _one_ of them would be smart enough to see the sexual tension for what it was and just fucking _do something._

They hadn’t, of course. Even Lawrence hadn’t. He jacked off quite a bit more recently than in past months, thought about his coworkers in a less than chaste way, but… well. They were his friends first, and if that’s all they wanted to be—that was fine by Lawrence.

But then, of course, came the cabin, and the first bedroom Lawrence walks into has a box of condoms sitting cheerfully on the bed with a note from AH to FH.

_We’ll be by later with groceries, and we’re not knocking, so keep it to the bedrooms – J and G_

Lawrence stares at the 30 pack dubiously for all of three seconds before there’s someone at the door and he shoves it into the end table.

 _Not yet,_ he tells himself. _Not… not a surprise. I have to ease them into it._

That first day goes by in kind of a blur—Jack and Geoff bring not only food, but vodka, and Lawrence takes a few shots immediately to bolster himself. That’s how he ends up annoying Joel, that’s why he ends up handsy and apologetic, that’s why when Matt sits at his feet in the absence of a seventh space to sit Lawrence immediately starts stroking his fingers through his hair.

“Simmer down,” Matt tells him softly as the others argue about the streaming set up. “The others will know something’s up.”

“Something’s up?” Lawrence asks, warm and still a little high-strung from the promise of something _finally happening,_ something that’s possibly been orchestrated by Achievement Hunter, something that Lawrence will gladly let them take charge in because he’s honestly too terrified to do it himself.

Matt’s hands on Lawrence’s legs feel like fire, feel like a promise. And then Matt speaks, and Lawrence has to hide his smile behind his vodka soda.

_“It’s going to happen.”_

That’s the thought that carries Lawrence through the rest of the night, especially when Matt ups the ante on Lawrence’s _100% gayer_ comment. He feels like there’s something in his drink that makes his heart beat too hard, that makes his hands tremble, that makes him watch the others touch casually with a mounting realization that it is, it’s _going to happen._

Lawrence ends up with Sean under his arm for most of the stream, grounding him when he flinches, trying to keep himself from screeching. The game is cute and atmospheric enough to draw him in, and it isn’t until Matt puts his hands on Lawrence’s shoulders that Lawrence remembers—everything.

“What’s up?” Lawrence asks, already a little breathless when he tilts his head back to find Matt grinning down at him.

“Joel told me I should take your bed,” Matt says. His eyes are hooded slightly, he’s smiling, and—his thumbs are rubbing absently at Lawrence’s shoulders.

“That seems rude,” Lawrence manages, because the alternative to speaking is to kiss Matt right now, with Sean still pressed into his arm, with the others still near.

“You could join me,” Matt suggests.

Lawrence feels like his skin is on fire as Matt wanders away. He’s rather proud he doesn’t immediately jump up and run after Matt like he would have in college—he gives it five minutes, waits until they’re at a save point in Sean’s stream, then extracts himself despite Sean and Adam’s protests.

“I’m too tired,” Lawrence says.

“Too drunk,” Adam translates. Lawrence ruffles his hair before making his way to his room and closing the door behind him before he can change his mind.

Matt is there, shirtless and with the blankets draped in a way that show he’s pantless, and Lawrence pinches his arm very hard to make sure he’s not dreaming.

Lawrence has imagined their first times a dozen different ways, spontaneous and in public, romantic and in a hotel room, chaotic and way too many limbs. He’d never once imagined Matt fucking Peake gesturing for Lawrence to join him on a bed in a cabin in the fucking woods.

He’d anticipated alcohol being involved, though, and is prepared to slip his shoes and pants off without tripping, and to let Matt deal with getting the shirt off if he so desires.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Matt says as Lawrence slides in bed next to him, and Lawrence can’t help but grin.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who was thinking about it,” he admits, then, “Why me, and not Adam or Joel?”

“Adam is too afraid to change the status quo,” Matt says, as if he’s not unbuttoning Lawrence’s shirt. “Joel assumes everyone else is making fun of him.”

“And Bruce and James?” Lawrence asks after pausing to press a chaste kiss to Matt’s mouth. “What about them? They’re both pretty into each other.”

“Bruce is having trouble dealing with how he feels,” Matt responds, his lips on Lawrence’s neck. “James has wanted to make a move for years–on you, on Spoole, on Adam–but he’s waiting for Bruce to get with the program.”

Lawrence is distracted from asking how exactly Matt knows all this by Matt’s chest beneath his hands, the firm muscle and soft hair.

“Why didn’t you make a move?” Lawrence asks finally, rolling until he’s on top of Matt and can kiss him deeply, properly. Matt’s smiling when Lawrence pulls away.

“I did,” he says. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

As far as foreplay goes, it should be uninspiring, but Lawrence is so hard just with the unspoken tension finally being _discussed_ that he’s ready to go right now despite the alcohol making his body slow to respond.

“You want to fuck me?” he asks Matt, and gets a wide grin in return.

“Nah, not right now. Get back on your side.”

Lawrence does so and Matt immediately stands, pulls Lawrence a little farther down the bed, then climbs back on. Lawrence is left staring directly at Matt’s crotch even after he lays down on his side.

“Are we going to 69?” Lawrence realizes.

“Yeah,” Matt says easily, and Lawrence can’t help it—he bursts into laughter.

“Of all the—this is the first Sexhaus encounter and we're—”

“Not the first,” Matt murmurs against Lawrence’s hip, and before Lawrence has time to ask _who_ Matt has swallowed him down completely.

The idea of 69'ing becomes increasingly less absurd as Lawrence realizes that by touching Matt, he gets him to groan around Lawrence’s cock, which means extra sensation, which means Lawrence groaning around _Matt’s_ cock, and it continues in a sloppy feedback loop until Matt is pulling away urgently.

“What—” Lawrence starts, wanting to know what Matt needs, but he gets his answer quickly when Matt rolls onto his back and looks up at Lawrence with swollen lips and a red face.

“Fuck my mouth,” he asks, orders, and Lawrence grabs the base of his cock to keep from coming right then and there.

Lawrence positions himself about Matt before thrusting in, going for deep rather than speed. Matt’s eyes roll and he makes an aborted noise around Lawrence’s cock that resolves itself as a moan as Lawrence pulls out. He slides in again, going as deep as he can, and starts rocking his hips until Matt blows out a deep breath through his nose and grabs Lawrence’s hips to pull him even deeper.

“Oh my god, Matt,” Lawrence breathes, watching with wide eyes. Matt isn’t done with him, though, starts manipulating Lawrence’s hips to the speed he wants and Lawrence is nothing if not willing to go with the flow. That’s how he ends up fucking Matt’s throat with the sounds of Sean’s stream still drifting into the room—

“Sean,” he says, hips stuttering, and Matt opens his eyes in a question when Lawrence pulls back.

“What?” he rasps and—god, his voice is fucked and devastatingly arousing, and Lawrence has to take a moment to breathe before he repeats himself.

“You and Sean,” Lawrence clarifies. Matt blinks blearily for a moment before grinning.

“I’ll tell you about it if you let me fuck you,” he promises. Lawrence runs a spit-slick hand up his shaft before looking down at Matt.

“Now?”

“If you’d like.”

Lawrence ends up with his feet braced on Matt’s shoulders as Matt fingers him with the exactness of a man who had spent a lot of time looking at medical charts and not enough watching gay porn.

“Come on,” Lawrence finally laughs. “Do I have to do it myself?”

He knows it’s the right thing to say, because Matt’s eyes go round.

“Would you?”

Lawrence ends up fingering himself open over Matt’s dick, one hand brace on the bed behind him and both of Matt’s firm on his hips.

“Condom,” Lawrence says once he loses patience. “End table.”

He’s too busy making that last push to remember the note and the excessive amounts of condoms and ends up feeling Matt laugh beneath him as he reads AH’s blessing.

“Did you show any of the others?” Matt asks, putting it back in place as he breaks open a foil packet.

“No,” Lawrence snorts. _“You_ were the one to tell me to simmer down—how do you think they would have reacted to that?”

“We’ll never know,” Matt says sadly, and that—that’s the last thing he says before he’s guiding Lawrence down and they’re fucking, they’re finally fucking, Lawrence has finally managed to get at least one—possibly two—members of Funhaus to—

He stops thinking thoughts then, as Matt thrusts up into him, starts letting his body do the steering as he adjusts for the best angle. Lawrence ends up with one hand on Matt’s chest holding him in place as he fucks down against him, rolling his hips until he finds the right spot and then grinding against it mercilessly.

“I’m going to—” Matt starts, breathless, and Lawrence laughs.

“Not before I do.”

Matt’s beautiful when he clenches his teeth and arches his head back, holding on desperately, and Lawrence takes pity on him by taking his own cock in hand and getting himself off in deft, graceless motions. Just before he gives himself over to the orgasm Lawrence says Matt’s name, catches his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he gasps, and can barely keep his eyes open as he comes _hard_ across his hand and Matt’s chest. Matt comes silently, but the tendons in his neck jump violently and he thrusts deeper into Lawrence once, twice, before going slack. Lawrence laughs breathlessly when Matt immediately spreads out, arms and legs at the four corners of the bed.

“Well that’s fucking adorable,” Lawrence sighs, then carefully crawls off of Matt’s lap. Matt makes a vague noise of question, so Lawrence leans down—not without wincing—to kiss him.

“I’m just going to get a washcloth,” he promises. The bathroom is a distracting combination of detachable showerheads and something that might be an enema nozzle, but Lawrence focuses on finding the quested for washcloth and getting it warm enough in the sink before returning to Matt.

Matt, who’s in the exact same position, and absolutely snoring.

“Wow,” Lawrence says, grudgingly impressed. “Didn’t even manage to get the condom off, nice one, buddy.”

Lawrence cleans him up as best as he can and is surprised when Matt sleeps through it all, surprise that quickly turns to annoyance because there is literally no room on the bed for Lawrence.

“I hope you have a hangover,” Lawrence tells Matt’s peacefully sleeping form, presses a kiss to his forehead, and dresses to go find another place to sleep.

The living room ends up being a no-go, because while Adam and James have gone to bed, Spoole is still streaming, and Bruce is still glaring at his tablet. Lawrence hovers behind him, trying to get a look at what he’s reading, but Bruce puts it in sleep mode and tilts his head up to look at Lawrence.

“What’s up? Thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I did,” Lawrence says, and winces when his voice is—maybe a little lower than it should be. He runs a finger under his collar absently.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Bruce questions. He’s looking—not quite at Lawrence, now, somewhere off to the side, and his nostrils are flaring strangely.

“Peake kicked me out of bed,” Lawrence says, which is more or less the truth. Bruce opens his mouth to respond before Sean’s laugh cuts him off.

“He does that,” Sean confirms, and he looks up and meets Lawrence’s eye in the dim of the living room and they share a smile that feels so much more satisfying than a high five.

“I’m going to bunk with Joel,” Lawrence decides, remembering Matt’s assessment—Joel assuming they were all making fun of him. Hard to keep up that misconception when you wake up with a man who may or may not have hickeys and still smells faintly of cum.

Twin “goodnights,” follow Lawrence to Joel’s bedroom, where he strips off his shirt again and spoons in behind Joel.

“Lawrence? Why are you here?” Joel mumbles, and it’s so sweet it that Lawrence snuggles in tighter behind him.

“Matt’s in my bed,” Lawrence soothes, running a hand down Joel’s head, “and Spoole is still streaming.”

It’s a surprise when Joel turns in his arms, drapes an arm around him in turn. Lawrence hums happily before Joel presses his lips to Lawrence’s ears and says sleepily, _“If you snore I will smother you.”_

“I could get into that,” Lawrence muses, but Joel is already asleep.

Tomorrow brings with it secret smiles with Matt, cuddling on the sofa with Sean, and the Fight. The fight that, really, one of them should have seen coming, but instead let happen in the middle of the living room between two men in flannel with too much machismo for their own good.

Lawrence stands in the empty cabin for a long moment after the search parties have been assembled and sent out and wonders if this is the end.

Then his phone buzzes, and Lawrence answers the call without thinking.

“Lawrence,” Joel says, and he sounds a little breathless, a lot annoyed. “Did you jack off next to me in bed?”

“What?” Lawrence says, taken aback. “No, absolutely not.”

“Then why did you smell like jizz when I woke up?”

Lawrence blinks. “Oh, that,” he says, debates lying, and figures that they’re already in the middle of the worst-case scenario. “Matt fucked me before I—”

“He _what?”_ Joel demands. Lawrence can vaguely hear Adam in the background demanding answers. “And kicked you out of bed?”

“No, just fell asleep in a way that meant he took up most of the bed,” Lawrence says, then sighs. “Look, why are you asking me about this now? And why are you _angry?”_

“Because I—I’m done with my gay crisis,” Joel declares. “And I wanted you to be my first.”

Lawrence pauses. He can hear Adam laughing.

“Oh,” he manages. “Well, I’ve still never fucked a dude, so—”

“Absolutely not,” Joel says immediately. “You’ve ruined it, I’m picking someone else. Spoole—”

“Matt had him already,” Lawrence points out. Joel’s gasp is absolutely scandalized.

“When? Were you involved? How long have people been fucking?”

“I have no idea, ask Matt,” Lawrence sighs. “Joel, there are seven of us, you’re going to be able to find some unblemished—”

“No,” Joel huffs. “I want Matt. And I want him to be sorry for what he’s done.”

“Kickstarting a lot of gay sex?”

Joel makes an irritated noise. “Will you make dinner while we’re finding Bruce? I want everyone in top form.”

“You’re scary,” Lawrence says fondly. Joel snorts.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bruce kisses James and Sean has to hide his smile behind his wrist to keep from laughing and spooking Bruce again, from setting them all back another few days or weeks or, or who knows how long. That would be bad. That would be tragic. That would be, be unacceptable, because Sean has worked so hard to get them all here. Not _here_ specifically, as in the cabin, but with—with James watching Bruce with naked interest, with Adam's arm around Matt, with Joel glaring at Lawrence—

"Why are you mad, Joel?" Sean asks, abandoning watching the still-running camera feed in favor of turning to Joel. It makes him sad when Joel turns his frown on Sean, instead, but when Joel crosses his arms petulantly Sean's confusion eases.

"You're jealous," he decides, then nods sagely.

"Jealous—" Joel starts, audibly offended. Sean cuts him off by stepping into his space and draping his arms around Joel's neck.

"You don't have to be jealous," Sean continues helpfully. "Not anymore." It's deeply satisfying when Joel uncrosses his arms to rest his hands on Sean's hips, holding him steady. 

"I'm not jealous," Joel lies, and Sean grins at him. 

"Okay," he agrees. "Can I kiss you?"

"Can you—" Joel starts, then cuts himself off with a visible shake of his head. Sean watches his curls bob, fascinated, before his eyes are caught by Joel's again. 

Sean tilts his head as he gazes at Joel carefully, taking in his dark eyes, his sloped cheeks, his aggressively kissable lips.

"You're pretty," Sean tells him. He's rewarded with Joel's musical laugh and a hand on the side of his face before they're kissing, they're finally kissing.

Joel kisses differently than Matt, with more pressure and more hands and more _intent_ and Sean can feel himself melting against Joel before the kiss is interrupted by Joel laughing again.

"You're drunk, Spoole," he says. Sean opens his eyes reluctantly.

"I am barely tipsy," Sean says primly. "And _you_ were the one who brought out the vodka. Which, considering, was not a, a super great idea."

"Considering what?" Adam asks, and his hands are on Sean's shoulders, and Sean can feel him standing behind him, and it's probably not the best idea to say what's on the tip of his tongue but the words are tumbling out before Sean can stop them.

"Considering me'n Matt are the only ones who've ever sucked dick."

Sean ends up nearly crushed when Adam laughs and wraps both Sean and Joel into his arms, hugs them tightly.

"Spoole," Adam says into the back of his neck. "You're drunk."

 _"You're_ drunk," Sean accuses. He squirms until he can get his head back on Adam's shoulder, get a look at Adam's sparkling eyes to confirm, yep, drunk. Adam, not Sean, though—though Sean has to admit, having his head resting on something is very nice, even though the world seems intent on lurching when Sean's eyes slip shut.

_"Should we put him to bed?"_

_"He slept out here, then we'd have to..."_

_"...yeah, okay. Kovic, help me with this."_

The warm weight disappears from Sean's back but it's okay, because then someone else is hugging Sean from behind—who is it, Lawrence?

"Back it up, back it up," Lawrence sings tunelessly, dragging Sean back by his hips, and Sean's laugh is joined by Joel's as they end up in a heap on the sofa.

"Oh," Joel says unhappily, shifting on top of Sean. "I forgot how awful s'mores were once you got done tasting them."

"Why do you think I didn't eat them?" Lawrence murmurs in response. "Stupid, marshmallows are a waste of calories."

"Just because you're too hoity toity for—"

Sean tunes out their bickering in favor of enjoying being sandwiched between them and passes a few minutes—or, or at least, some measure of time—very happily until Joel sits up and leaves Sean's chest cold.

"No," Sean says, trying to pull Joel back, but his hands close around porcelain instead of Joel's arm.

"What is," he starts, then opens his eyes and squints. "Is this coffee?"

"Tea," Bruce says brusquely, waiting for Sean to get his hands around the mug fully. "You don't drink coffee, moron."

"I know that," Sean starts. "I just, didn't—you know that."

"Of course I know that," Bruce says, sounding baffled. "How long have we worked—"

Sean is deeply satisfied when Bruce cuts off mid-sentence in favor of returning Sean's kiss. He'd been the tricky one, Bruce, the one Sean hadn't been certain how to—well, not _seduce,_ because Sean had never seduced anyone, but like—convince? Or, or at least, make _aware_ of, because Bruce doesn't kiss like a man who needs convincing.

He kisses, he kisses like a man who's in over his head, actually, and that's—that's no good.

"Bruce," Sean mumbles against his lips, pulling back just far enough to give him his best imploring look. "Sit with me?"

Bruce looks slightly relieved. "Sure, Spoole," he says, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the side of Sean's mouth. "You want your tea with you or on the table?"

"Table, please," Sean says primly, straightening from where he's sprawled across Lawrence to make room for Bruce to sit. Bruce takes the mug from him and starts shifting things on the table to make room for it, which gives Sean enough time to twist in Lawrence's arms and survey the room.

James and Adam are facing each other on the other couch. Joel and Matt are nowhere to be seen. Lawrence is watching Sean with a small smile that Sean returns before leaning in for the hell of it and kissing him, too.

"You sober up fast," Lawrence murmurs when then break apart, one had coming up to cup the back of his head. "What are you planning?"

"I don't plan anything," Sean admits, then, "but, the distribution—"

"Should be more even?" Lawrence guesses, and then he's kissing Sean again, and Sean loses his train of thought in Lawrence's mouth.

"I see how it is," Bruce says from behind Sean, and then, wonder of wonders, he rests a hand delicately on Sean's waist. "Is it the beard? It's the beard."

Sean gets to see Lawrence's grin before he's bearing Sean forward in order to kiss Bruce over his shoulder. Sean gets, gets probably the best view ever and thoroughly enjoys being pressed between two men for the third time that night until Lawrence finally extracts himself and stands.

"Keep an eye on him" Lawrence says.

"I will," Sean says at the same time as Bruce says, "I'll try."

Bruce's laugh is still carrying that slight tinge of hysteria to it, but at least he's laughing, and when Sean wiggles until he can see Bruce's face, he's smiling. When he catches Sean's eye, some of the tension in his shoulders eases.

"This is, this is fucking crazy," he murmurs, but lets Sean straddle him anyways. There's, there's an upside to being the smallest out of them all, silly and sweet where Joel was sharp and acerbic. Sean can already feel Bruce relaxing from where he'd tensed, yet again, at Sean crawling into his lap. Sean wants to shove his hands up Bruce's shirt or down his shorts or something, but makes himself loop his arms around Bruce's neck instead.

Bruce's hands settle around Sean's waist like they're slowdancing at prom and not in a cabin in the woods with the sound of five other men's pleasure mingling with the crickets.

"Everything we do is, is fucking crazy," Sean points out. Bruce's laugh rumbles through them both and Sean has to keep himself from—from taking advantage of his perch. A moral dilemma that quickly and blessedly solves itself when Bruce tentatively cants Sean's hips forward.

"Do you wanna," Sean starts, then bites his lip. It's only the Tito's that makes him try again. "Do you wanna fuck me?"

Bruce's hands tighten around Sean's waist, press him down more firmly against Bruce's burgeoning interest. They both gasp, then gasp again as Sean rolls his hips helplessly.

"I don't," Bruce says, "I wouldn't know what to do, Spoole."

Sean swallows at the confession, moves his hips again. This time Bruce continues the motion, presses Sean back down when he eases up and starts a tentative pattern

"I've, I've tried it," Sean breathes, just to feel Bruce's cock lurch through the fabric separating them. If he had a superpower, he thinks it'd be the ability to make clothing disappear—all cloth ever, especially the bit keeping him from feeling every inch of Bruce's skin against him.

"You've, you've been fucked?" Bruce asks, almost—almost reverently, and Sean has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Not, no, but I've—I've used... my fingers, and, and—a toy," he admits. "I looked up how to do it and, and—" Sean stops himself from saying _went to town on myself_ because Bruce looks like he's still caught up on the dildo bit and Sean doesn't want to ruin the mood. Instead he focuses on grinding on Bruce, eking out as much pleasure from the rough friction as he can.

"Fuck," Bruce manages. His throat bobs when he swallows; Sean licks his lips. "Fuck, Spoole, how did—I mean, did it feel good?"

Sean bites his lower lip. "Yeah, it—yeah," he confesses, then forges forward before he can think better of it. "It'd, it'd feel better if it—if it were your cock, though." By the end of the sentence he can feel himself starting to squeak and regrets opening his mouth until Bruce swears again.

"I want to," he says. Sean feels his eyes widen as Bruce goes on. "Fuck, I want, I want to, Spoole, but I—I'm still a little drunk, and you—I don't want to hurt you—"

"Later," Sean rushes to say. "Tomorrow, or, or the next day—I want you to fuck me, Bruce."

Bruce lets go of Sean's waist and Sean thinks for a terrifying moment that he's messed up, gone too fast—which is absurd, considering, but—but fuck, holy shit, Bruce is undoing Sean's jeans and his own shorts and there's suddenly half the amount of fabric between their dicks. Bruce is even touching Sean despite the unsteadiness of his hands—the shaking, Sean realizes, he's shaking.

Sean reaches down to still Bruce's hand and leans in to kiss the sense out of him. By the time they break apart he's figured out what he can say, what—what will reassure Bruce, or, or possibly make him laugh. Either way, it's a win, and so Sean threads his fingers through Bruce's and leads Bruce's thumb to the tip of his cock, where precum has soaked through his briefs.

It's a struggle to articulate the words. Sean ends up with his face buried in Bruce's neck as he stutters out the high-pitched, "I'm, I'm wet for you."

There's a pause... and then the world lurches.

When Sean can see again he's flat on his back on the couch and Bruce is on top of him, elbows braced beside Sean's head, hips flush against Sean's.

"You're a fucking idiot, Spoole," he laughs, then starts grinding his hips deliberately and maddeningly down against Sean's. "I'm not, I'm not—I know you have a dick, okay? It's, it's hard to miss."

"Thank you?" Sean hazards. He gets another laugh and—fuck, Bruce actually bites him, scrapes his teeth up Sean's neck before nipping at the edge of his jaw. All the while, the motion of his hips never stops, and it's—it's a lot like what Sean imagines being fucked to feel like, at least emotionally, because Bruce is heavy on top of him and there's warmth radiating from him and Sean can't help but spread his legs for Bruce to have better access.

The change in angle makes them both catch their breath before Bruce is straightening up, pulling his shirt over his head and leaning down to tug Sean's up before he's plastering their bodies back together and Sean can't help but moan at the sudden sensation of hair against his sensitive nipples.

"Fuck," he says, then, "Bruce, fuck—"

The weight on top of him, the grinding, the stimulation—it's, it's a lot, it's too much, especially after a weekend spent waiting desperately for his friends to get their shit together and _fuck_ already. Sean comes with a gasp that Bruce swallows, the kiss as brutal as it is uncoordinated.

Sean forces his eyes open despite wanting nothing more than to bask in the afterglow in order to watch Bruce pull back, kneel above Sean and—oh, fuck, he was—

"Yeah," Sean says as Bruce pulls himself out of his boxers, jerks himself off in rough strokes that make Sean's head spin. Would Bruce fuck Sean that roughly? Would he look that focused, that—that furious, almost, like the pleasure is being torn from him?

"Spoole," Bruce says, then, "Fuck, Sean, I'm gonna—" The rest of the sentence is lost to a loud groan, but it's not exactly a mystery what has Bruce's hips bucking as he fucks into his own fist.

"Yeah," Sean repeats helplessly, running his hands up Bruce's chest. "Yeah, c'mon."

He doesn't mean to flinch when Bruce comes, but, but holy fuck, it's, it's a compilation worthy amount of cum. Sean looks down wondrously as Bruce just—just keeps going, stripes Sean's chest with enough jizz that Sean is pretty sure he should applaud.

"Woah," Sean says instead as Bruce's groan devolves into sharp gasps.

"Holy shit," Adam says from across the room. "Sign me the fuck up."

Bruce laughs, which is good, but then he's looking down at Sean and he's—blushing?

"Uh," he says, reaching down like he's going to try wiping the cum off, then freezes. "I, you need a shower, probably. Can you, can you manage?"

Bruce is panting, he's actually _panting._ Sean is struggling not to call him on being fucking porn star levels of hot when Adam laughs again.

"I got him," he says, and then Adam's beside them, then he and Bruce are looking at each other with that fascinating newness that had made Bruce and James kiss in the doorway, made Matt ask Lawrence to bed, made Sean stay late at the office and approach Matt so many weeks ago.

Sean's body gives round two its best effort when Adam leans forward, pauses, and Bruce closes the distance to kiss him.

"Woah," Sean says again, not quite sure what else to say. He's rewarded for his speechlessness when Adam laughs against Bruce's lips and Bruce pulls back to huff.

"C'mon, Spoole," Adam says then, and leans down to pull Sean's shirt off of him before doing the same to his jeans.

"Man, you are—absolutely covered," he says appreciatively. "Come on, bud, up you go."

Sean's glad for Adam's support when he stands and finds his knees a little more wobbly than he'd like. Adam's arm is warm around him his chest is smooth against Sean's side and he's, he's naked, isn't he?

"What'd you do?" Sean asks as Adam helps him sit on the side of the bathtub, strips his soaked briefs off of him. Adam looks up and he's—he's practically glowing, so of course Sean kisses him.

Adam hums happily before wrapping his arms around Sean and picking him bodily up, prompting Sean to squeak and wrap his legs around Adam's waist, which in turn makes Adam laugh.

Sean feels like he's floating when Adam presses him to the tiled wall of the shower and starts fiddling with the water, smiling all the while.

"I like it when you're happy," Sean says without thinking. It's worth his resulting blush to get Adam to laugh again, to kiss him more.

"You're cute, Spoole," Adam murmurs in Sean's ear over the sudden sound of the shower. Sean wraps himself more tightly around Adam.

 _"You're_ cute," he retaliates.

Adam laughs for a third time, and Sean has to bite back the whole-hearted _I love you._

Not yet. Sean had put too much effort into getting them here, into getting them together, to blow that emotional load so soon. This one—this was fine waiting for, though, because now?

It'd happened. It'd finally happened.

And they had all the time in the world for those words now that they could reaffirm the feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at egocentrifuge.tumblr.com


End file.
